The Volunteer
by mrs.milfoy
Summary: Harry Potter has escaped grief twice now, looking to distract himself as a volunteer at St. Mungo's. But it seems he's not alone in this escape, and it may be more than work that distracts him. But perhaps he was looking for more than a get-away in the first place... Hear a playlist for The Volunteer by visiting the link on my profile!
1. Sympathetic Eyes

The Volunteer

Chapter One: Sympathetic Eyes

Ginny was crying again. Harry opened his eyes reluctantly, saw dust motes swirling in a shaft of golden sunlight. He rolled toward her on a sigh and rubbed a hand down her back. She only sobbed harder.

"Here." He sat up and pulled her to his chest. "S'alright, Gin. Alright, love." This was all he could do, really. All he could offer her. He heard commotion downstairs and knew other Weasley's were about. He hated the moment of walking into their midst like _this_ – after he'd stayed the night in their daughter's bed. Even though nothing had happened, it felt like a grave disrespect just the same.

Not that the Weasleys resented him. Nor would they begrudge their daughter her wish to have Harry there, just like they wouldn't begrudge Ron's wish to have Hermione. But still…

He stared over the crying girl's bare shoulder at a mirror across the room. Her face was buried in her hands and he may as well have been absent, but Harry's eye settled on his own reflection. Bags beneath his eyes. Three days' scruff on his face. Unwashed hair. He looked like hell. He looked _old_…

He felt old, too.

Grunting, he swung his legs off the bed and sat beside his weeping girlfriend. She didn't look at him. "Right. I'm going to fetch us some breakfast. Shall I?" She shook her head. "Alright. D'you want to be alone?" She nodded. "Right." He stood and pulled his trousers over his briefs. "I'll check on you later, love." She continued sobbing, long ginger locks obscuring what he knew was a pretty face.

He buttoned his shirt as he descended the rickety stairs to the Burrow's kitchen. Ron was at the table with Hermione and looked past her to Harry – not really _at _Harry, but rather _through _Harry. "Morning, Ron. Hermione."

Ron grunted a greeting. Hermione turned with a tired smile. "Morning, Harry. Where's Ginny?" Harry grimaced and gestured up the stairs. "Oh." Hermione frowned. "I'll just go check on her, then."

Harry watched her go. Ron was reading the Prophet's Quidditch news with his recent expressionless face. "Any good news?"

"No."

"Your dad at work?"

"Yeah."

Harry poured a cuppa. "Where's your mum?"

"Garden."

Harry stared at Ron for a moment. "I miss you, mate."

Ron looked up. "I'm right here, Harry. You're weird today." He re-immersed himself in the Quidditch pages, and Harry made a decision.

He didn't have much to pack. His knapsack was nearly full when Hermione appeared in the doorway. "You're leaving." She didn't sound surprised.

Harry sat at the end of the small guest bed. "Am I awful?"

She shook her head. "I'm surprised you've stayed this long. I know it's hard to be surrounded by all this grief when you still have your own."

"What about you, Hermione? How can you take it?"

She shrugged. "Honestly, I know my situation isn't as bad as theirs. Or yours. My parents are still alive. I didn't lose family. Friends, yes. But friends are with us always. I suppose losing a family member is hardest." She rubbed Harry's shoulder. "I need to be there for them because they are my family now."

"But Ginny –"

Hermione frowned. "Ginny is in a bad place. I know. And I think you feel lost to help her."

He nodded. "You always know, don't you?"

"She just lost her brother a month ago, Harry. This whole house coming to terms. But you've got to come to terms, too." She folded a shirt and handed it over to him. "Will you go to Grimmauld?"

"It's all I've got."

She handed over a jumper. "It'll be tough there, too, Harry. And you'll be alone."

"I know."

She handed over a tee shirt. "I'll come visit. And Ginny. Ron."

Harry smiled. "I know that, too."

"I'm not folding your pants, Harry."

For the first time in weeks, Harry chuckled. "I'll finish up here. Thanks."

She hugged him. "Ginny's asleep. I'll tell her you left, Harry. She probably won't want any emotional partings right now."

"Will she hate me?"

In the doorway, Hermione melted. "Oh, Harry. Never. Ginny loves you more than you could ever know. Just give her some time. And yourself."

Ron didn't even notice him leaving.

Grimmauld Place was…well, grim. It was clean, but dark and smelled of its usual disuse. Kreacher stood atop the stairs, looking down at him. "Master is returned to his home?"

"Perhaps. For a while, at least." The portraits were all gone, as well as the elf heads and Black family bric-a-brac that had once been décor. Harry was relieved at the blank space abounding.

"Shall Kreacher prepare a meal?"

"Not now, no. Just…dinner, I guess. At…six?"

"Six." And the ancient elf was off, mumbling to itself.

Harry wandered up to the master suite. It was dust-free and sunny. He stared out the window into an empty, but green courtyard below. Everything about Grimmauld Place seemed empty. Perhaps he preferred that. He wandered again. At Sirius' old room, he paused and placed a hand flat on the closed door. "I'm home," he whispered. "Thank you."

Downstairs, he saw that the piano in the drawing room had been cleaned and restored. He tapped the keys randomly. It seemed to have been tuned, as well. The worn and faded faces of Blacks long dead or at least dead to Harry stared on in silence from the family tree. Harry had long since learned how to ignore them. Beside a frayed chaise lounge was a stack of wooden boxes. Kreacher was obviously still in the process of clearing out and organizing.

Bored and curious, Harry flicked the lid from the top box. There were pictures inside – moving wizarding photos either yellowed with age or grayed by fading, but still flickering with a faint life. Harry took up a handful of them and flipped aimlessly. People he didn't know, mainly. Every once in a while, he recognized Sirius' laughing face, or a glimpse of his mother or father.

Strange, but they were just images now to him. Even after his encounter with them before his 'death' at Voldemort's wand, they were little more than these flitting images from a past he wasn't a part of.

An image from the Great Hall caught his eye. A laughing Sirius, grinning James and shyly smiling Lily clustered before the photographer. Lily shifted to brush a shank of hair from James' face, and behind her was another trio. Harry couldn't have mistaken the tall, regal Lucius Malfoy, straight white hair spilling down a velvet-robed back; and looking up at the slightly older student with an unfortunate hint of hero worship was Severus Snape.

That same odd sharpness hit the back of Harry's eyes. Every time he saw – or thought – of his old potions master, the heat that comes before tears crept into his throat. He swallowed it down, again, and focused on the third figure in the background.

Straight and prim, willowy and gothic in her too-mature for a schoolgirl beauty was Narcissa Malfoy. She must have been 15 or 16 here. Fifth or sixth year. Already destined to become the wife of a Death Eater. Aside from her beauty, the thing that struck Harry about this image was her smile. It was huge, devouring her face and laughing. It was an expression he couldn't seem to imagine on the adult version of this person – the one who'd threatened him with death once in Madam Malkin's and who'd in turn lied to the Dark Lord to save Harry's bloody life.

Sighing, Harry tossed the photos back into their box. His head lolled on the lounge. He closed his eyes, and dreamed of a warm hand scrambling against his bare chest, hot breath panting against his ear when she asked after her son…

"Master. Dinner in ten minutes."

"Gah!" Harry bolted upright. His fingers hastily wiped at the drool on his chin. His neck ached from the odd angle he'd held it at while he slept. Kreacher stood in the doorway, framed by silver light from the hall. "Right." Harry muttered. "Thanks, Kreacher." The elf grunted and moved on.

Harry found dinner to be lonely. At the Burrow, there was always at least some company – if not the entire family. Kreacher was a fair enough cook, and the stew was good. But the silence was deafening. The scraping of his spoon against his bowl grated his nerves. He pushed away from the extensive table, and the chair's scraping echoed in the dining room.

In the Black library, he found several boxes of muggle books. Kreacher had no doubt collected them from various rooms and deposited them here for organizing. Harry picked through the top box. _Don Quixote. The Prince. Fathers and Sons. Madame Bovary. _A motley assortment.

Harry smirked, imagining his miscreant and muggle-fascinated godfather nicking these tomes from various bookstores. He plucked out _Anna Karenina_ and headed off to bed.

Sleep came surprisingly easy at Grimmauld. The tomb-like quality of the house helped, along with the lack of a crying and/or screaming bedmate jolting him awake at any hour. In fact, he slept well through breakfast.

His first days at Grimmauld were spent this way. Sleeping much. Eating little. He read ravenously, as if throwing himself into muggle fictions would save him from his own non-fiction. And it worked, to a degree. Until Ginny's or Hermione's owl arrived, reminding him he was still a part of a healing, broken world.

He told them he was well, reassured them of his love. He hadn't yet invited any visitors and hoped they wouldn't come. But it seemed they well enough understood his need for solitude and honoured it. So he spent his time between reading organizing alongside Kreacher. They made a quite strange duo, really.

"What shall Kreacher do with old faces, Master?"

The elf asked after the photos in the drawing room. Harry shrugged. "I'll go through them. If there are any worth keeping, I'll set them aside. The others we can destroy." Kreacher cringed, and Harry softened. "Or…you can keep them in your quarters. If you like."

"Kreacher will be honoured to accept the gift of the memories of the Noble and Ancient House – "

"Right," Harry overrode him. "Just dump a box on the couch and I'll get started."

"Yes, Master."

He didn't keep many photos at all, really. Nor did he devote much time to the sorting. A few of his godfather, a few of his parents. But he did spend a great deal of time staring at some of the more notable ones. A young Bellatrix Lestrange holding up a bird's skull necklace – obviously a Yule gift from some family member or other. A surreal image – her smiling without madness. He tossed the photo directly into the fire after a moment.

Bellatrix Black had gone mad and murdered and died the way she deserved. He glared at the discarded photos. Most of these people were dead and forgotten already. His thumb fanned them, and they moved like an animated story. "Kreacher."

The elf popped in like a wraith. "Master?"

"These boxes are yours." Harry took up the only small box he'd kept for himself and retired to his room. He'd finished _Anna Karenina_ and started _The Picture of Dorian Gray. _But he couldn't focus on the story tonight. He closed the book and reached into the box he'd placed on the bedside table. The picture he produced was of Narcissa Malfoy. She was alone in the image, standing before a full-length mirror in an elaborate sparkling wedding dress. Her bouquet was unsurprisingly comprised of white narcissi, and she clutched it tightly to her abdomen. In the mirror, her smile was bright and bridely. But when she turned to glance at the photographer, it was simply resigned.

The next morning he perused the Daily Prophet for the first time in days, leaning shirtless against a kitchen counter sipping his tea. **Hogwarts to rebuild! Minerva McGonagall named Headmistress. Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt announces plans to start a fund for wizarding children orphaned by war. **He flipped the page, barely reading. He already knew all this.

One headline caught his attention and held it. **St. Mungo's still in need of volunteers. **Intrigued, Harry read the article.

**St. Mungo's Hospital is still asking for volunteers in the wake of our last wizarding war. "We're simply overwhelmed," Hospital Director Kitt Ashton explains. "We're full to the brim with long term patients of all ages, and running out of places to put them. We've got staff fainting away on their feet from over-exhaustion, and the orphanages are filling, as well. Supplies aren't a problem, but they're coming in faster than we can distribute them." The facility asks for volunteers for hospital work, and available space to convert to treatment centers. The facility offers modest but convenient quartering for all volunteers if desired, and will include meals. If you feel you can help in any way, please report to St. Mungo's reception and ask for the corresponding volunteer coordinator. A list follows. Adult Long Term Care: Honora DeLeigle. Trauma Ward: Phillip Wintraub. Mortuary Services: Neil Kurtz. Nursery Ward: Narcissa Malfoy.**

There were more names and departments, but Harry had already dropped the Prophet. "Kreacher."

"Master?" The elf was already in the doorway.

"I'm going to St. Mungo's. To volunteer for a time. And I intend to open Grimmauld Place up for patients and Healers from the hospital. You'll help see to them?"

The elf blinked its big, tired eyes. It could hardly be surprised by its new master's odd behaviour any longer. "Yes, Master."

"Good. Um…" Harry paused on the steps and looked back. "Thank you." The elf shook its head, cleaning up the cup and saucer Harry had left behind.

The receptionist was nearly at her wit's end. "Can I help you?"

"I'm here to volunteer."

She barely looked at him. "You'll need to find a coordinator and speak to them. Do you know which ward you're going to?"

"Nursery."

Now she shot him a glance, obviously surprised a wizard was volunteering for the nursery ward. "Oh, Merlin! Harry Potter!" At her exclamation, heads turned toward him.

Harry breathed deeply. "Please," he said. "Just tell me where to find Narcissa Malfoy."

The witch stood, shaking her brown curls. "Eighth floor. Follow the signs to the volunteers' wing. She has an office there."

Harry whisked away, clutching his knapsack tightly over his shoulder and lowering his head. He didn't want the attention that followed him from the lobby. But even in the elevator were the whispers: "That's Potter! What's he doing here? He's volunteering?" The whispers increased in volume, excitement and curiosity when he swept off the magical lift at the eighth floor.

Healers and training healers bustled here and there. This ward was bright, with windows comprising a whole lobby wall. Harry looked to the right. An obviously temporary quill-drawn sign read "Volunteers Wing," and animatedly pointed him down a long corridor. He passed various offices, storage closets and such, and at the end of the corridor, followed another arrow to the left.

This area was quiet and dim, sporting decorated numbered doors that he took to be personal quarters. He wondered if he would be staying here. At the end of this hall was a door pasted with another handmade sign in elegant script:Nursery Volunteer Coordinator.

He took a deep breath, attempted to smooth his o'er shaggy dark hair, gave up and knocked.

"Yes! In!" The reply was brisk and impatient, clear if a little frustrated. He pushed open the ashen door and was greeted by legs, hips and a rather lovely arse encased in white with black pinstripes. The witch was bent over a desk scribbling hastily on a parchment. Harry's mouth went quite dry. "Constance. If this is about those new linens, I haven't the time. You may march right back to laundry and inform your coordinator that I don't make empty requests. I have babies sleeping in soiled blankets and I haven't seen a delivery in two days. I don't have the extra hands to send –"

She'd turned at last, and her rant slowed before stopping altogether as she took Harry in.

And Harry quite took her in, not completely aware his eyes were currently lingering on the modest shadow between her firm breasts. "Mr. Potter?" He finally met her eyes.

They were wide and as blue as he remembered them. The same high cheekbones and bowed red lips. The same elegantly curving brows. Her bangs swept darkly over her forehead, the rest of her striking blonde and black locks tucked beneath a rather mugglish nurse's cap. He hadn't expected a uniform, and he might have stumbled upon his first fetish. "Mrs. Malfoy," he mumbled.

"What the devil are you doing here?" Not the response he'd expected, and certainly not one he'd hoped for.

"I'm here to volunteer. To help out."

"On _this_ ward?" Her elegant hands were fussing at her midriff, drawing his eyes again down her body. "They must be joking." She turned and rounded her desk. "I'll just call down to –"

"I requested this ward, Mrs. Malfoy."

Brought up short again, her eyes narrowed at him and her lips pursed. "Why?"

He shrugged. Honestly, in the hours since he'd read the article in the Prophet and left for St. Mungo's, he still hadn't given one thought to why he was doing this. Although there was a terrible truth lurking just at the base of his brain… "I thought perhaps the nursery ward could use a pair of masculine hands. I imagine you've plenty of young ladies. I may not be help with the babies and such, but I can fetch your linens for you…and I don't mind getting dirty."

Her Patrician nostrils flared slightly, and perhaps a light blush spread across her face. "Indeed." Her voice was low, considering. She wasn't quite convinced. "I don't play, Mr. Potter. If you're here for some sort of press or –"

"I'd rather avoid it, actually. At all costs." He hitched his knapsack higher on his shoulder. "As I imagine you would, as well. Why are _you_ here, Mrs. Malfoy?"

She stiffened. "Don't presume to know me, Mr. Potter. And don't interrupt me when I'm speaking. I abhor such ill behaviours."

He didn't back down. "Forgive me. But if I'm to respect you as my coordinator, please respect me as a volunteer. Why question my work before you give me a chance?"

She sighed and looked down guiltily. "You're right. Allow me to apologize, as well, Mr. Potter. I stay very busy here and…it can be overwhelming. I should not have been so rude. I do appreciate your willingness to work – more than you could know." She extended a hand. "I know we know each other, but…I look forward to having you as a part of my team."

Her hand was dry and warm. He didn't so much shake it as hold it for a moment, stroking the backs of her fingers with his thumb. He watched her face as she looked down at their hands and drew hers back slowly. He remembered those fingers as they slipped through his, remembered them pressing over his heart.

She cleared her throat nervously. "Um…I'll show you to your quarters. Let you settle in." He nodded and opened the door for her to lead them out. She ducked beneath his arm, lithe and petite. "Thank you." He followed her attentively, focusing on the sway of her hips and the shape of her calves. She wore opaque hosiery and simple white heels, probably designed to add a few inches of height.

But the effect on Potter's libido was startling and sudden. She glanced back over her shoulder a few times to see him still following, and he couldn't help imagining she could feel his stare.

At a bare door near the corridor's end, she paused and gestured. "This will be you. Number 20." She touched at a strand of hair that had escaped her bun. "Your closest neighbour is um…me." She gestured at the door across the way nearest the office they'd left. "But you'll meet the others at tomorrow's daily meeting. 8 am sharp in the conservatory. I'll show you there after you drop your things." She pulled her wand from a pocket of her trim skirt and tapped the door handle. "You'll key your own wards, of course, once you're settled in. It's small, but you'll find you're not in it much."

It was indeed small. And spartan. A twin-size bed with a bland tan duvet. A desk with ink pot and parchment. A basic wooden chair. A full-length mirror adorned one wall and across from it was a slender door. "Your lavatory." Narcissa slid the door open. It rested in a track – designed no doubt to save space. Inside was a shower, toilet and sink. "I'm afraid my quarters are the only ones with a bath. Er…" She cleared her throat. The expression on her face read, 'Why the hell did I just say that?'

Harry found her fluster to be entirely charming. She smelled spicy, and he lingered close to her to catch an occasional whiff. _This isn't at all healthy_, he thought. Her hands worked at her sides occasionally, an odd little shake. This was a woman who was not accustomed to being nervous.

"I'll show you to the conservatory, if you're ready?" He nodded, dropped his knapsack on the bed, and followed her again. She spoke as they traversed the carpeted corridor. "We meet in the conservatory. And often the volunteers lounge there in their time off. Meals can be taken there, in your room or in the dining hall on the first floor."

The conservatory was a glassed in room adjoining the Eighth floor lobby. It was bright and decorated to offer cheer. There were moving pictures posted along one wall – staff and volunteers with patients and each other, smiling and waving. There was a large table, a modern refrigerating unit (odd to see in most wizarding establishments) and, most surprisingly, a muggle stereo on a counter. Narcissa noticed Harry smiling at it.

"The staff and my girls…they often listen to music. I'm sure you'll enjoy it." He looked back at her. Her tone, bearing and verbiage all suggested she did not mingle much with 'the staff.'

"Do you enjoy it?"

She blinked at him. "It's…loud."

"Ah."

"Lunch soon, Mr. Potter. Here, if you'd like to wait. Volunteers all take their lunches at the same time. Hospital staff staggers theirs for floor coverage. Not all of the girls will luncheon together, but you'll meet a few, at least. And perhaps even some you know."

"All girls, then?"

She nodded. "Yes. Except for you, now." She chuffed a soft laugh. "They'll be thrilled to work with a young handsome wizard, especially you." A throat clearing and her mouth moved awkwardly. "Anyway. I'll fetch a schedule for you. I have lists ready each day for the volunteers. Keeps them busy. I imagine yours will take you off the ward a bit more. It will be nice to have strong arms to fetch and deliver." A quick blush and a pseudo-cough. "Just…keep your wand handy."

"Of course."

An awkward moment of silence landed. Her hands fidgeted, and Harry realized she was twisting her wedding ring around her finger. A simple band with a simple diamond. Probably something she donned just for work as he recalled her having quite elaborate jewellery the times he'd seen her before. Nothing fancy, but a reminder nonetheless.

When he looked back to her face, he saw she'd noticed him looking. Her eyes downcast. "You can wait here if you like. The girls will be along soon. Or you can come to my office for your schedule."

He shrugged. "I'll go with you."

"Right." She backed toward the door to the conservatory. "I should have something drawn up already, so we should only be a moment." They were in the lobby when the lift doors parted and the sounds of giggling and chattering erupted. "Ah!" Narcissa gestured. "The girls."

Harry smiled at the six or so young women who were approaching. They looked to Narcissa with smiles, and to him with curiosity…save for one who rushed forward from the group. "Harry?"

He was taken quite by surprise. "Cho?"

"Harry Potter!" Chang threw her arms around his neck. "Oh my gods! What are you doing here?" The others erupted into a gust of whispers and titters at his name. "Surely you're not volunteering."

"I am, Cho. It's…good to see you." He looked to see Narcissa stepping away slowly.

"I'll just fetch that schedule for you, Mr. Potter. You should catch up with your friend." Then she was gone, her brisk gait and straight back disappearing down the corridor. Harry was absorbed by hand-shakes and excited introductions.

His escape, it seemed, was a success.

**AN:** A far cry from my usual fare, I know. But it's been inspired. A huge note of thanks to my fantastic Britpicker intoxicatedminds. And if any of you recognize the chapter title, kudos to you. You have an idea where this is going.


	2. Number Block

The Volunteer

Chapter Two: Number Block

Harry was a quick enough study. It didn't take him long to recognise that he was the workhorse. And he really didn't mind. He could see from the relief on their faces that these girls were worked nearly to their bones here. Cho had told him how difficult it was to find nursery volunteers because people either didn't want the bother of the babies, or they didn't want to get attached to the babies.

But there were more than just babies on this ward. Mothers were here, too, of course. Families often gathered for births. And children up to age thirteen were hospitalised on the eighth floor. In fact, the ward was currently filled to the brim with orphaned, injured pre-adolescents and young teenagers. Harry hadn't even realized the scope of the war's extensive damage until he started volunteering. The number of families affected was truly staggering. Voldemort's reach had been most comprehensive.

He did know a few of the other volunteers. Padma and Parvati Patil, along with Cho, made up the circle of schoolmates he knew here. And he learned others were volunteering elsewhere in the hospital; Dennis Creevey, Pansy Parkinson, Daphne Greengrass and Seamus Finnigan, to name a few. He suspected he would run into them soon enough on his rounds.

And he had quite a few rounds. His coordinator kept him busy, indeed, and with certain less enjoyable jobs. Fetching deliveries was a staple, as was delivering to other departments. Linens were numerous and bulky – a damn heavy nuisance even with magic. And they went through so many… Sometimes, he felt like he fetched or laundered linens five times a day.

Elves helped, but they rarely appeared on the wards, preferring to work behind the scenes as they had at Hogwarts.

Then there were the odd jobs a volunteer picked up along their way; take this file to reception, drop these blankets off at the burn ward, take lunch up to Healer Grayson. Harry often lost track of the work he accomplished. But it was no bother at all. In fact, he loved being busy. By the time his head hit his pillow at night, there were no niggling thoughts and most importantly, no time for grieving.

He _did _have free time. His coordinator was quite adamant about caring for her workers. She insisted that her long-term volunteers have two free days a week, and apparently faced a great deal of resistance from hospital staff on this issue. They believed the word 'volunteer' equated to the word 'slave,' and she disagreed.

She wasn't afraid to lock horns with higher level hospital staff, and Harry admired her for it.

He also admired her hands, the little curls at the nape of her neck, her poise and the way she licked her teeth after she smiled to ensure she'd left no lipstick. He admired her spicy, unique scent and her strong feminine walk. He admired her trim waist and the beginnings of crows' feet aside her eyes.

When she was close enough, he studied her face as if she was a specimen. If she noticed, perhaps she ignored it. If she didn't notice, she was truly oblivious. Harry imagined himself to be transparent in his odd infatuation, but maybe she was just that preoccupied.

Or maybe she'd just never imagined that he could entertain thoughts of her beyond the professional. After all, she was more than twenty years his senior, and mother to a son Harry's own age.

Yet somehow – despite those odds – she crept into his dreams over and over again with her warm hands and hot breath. And now, often, Harry chased the dream, molded it to his own designs; made them alone in that forest, pressed his hand against hers, turned and caught her lovely lips by surprise before they could hit his ear.

True he'd never had sex. Fumblings in darkened corridors and awkward kisses in forbidden locations hardly amounted to what one could call experience. But Narcissa Malfoy's body set something alight in Harry's body that didn't require experience – just instinct.

He owled Ginny often, practically wracking his brain for something to say to her. She rarely responded with more than "Come home soon and take care." Hermione's letters were a bit more telling; how Ginny seemed to be withdrawing even further inside herself, how Molly and Arthur liked to pretend nothing was wrong, how Ron snapped often and behaved out of sorts. Harry encouraged her to come to the hospital – to come volunteer.

But Hermione called him out like no one else would have. "Harry. We can't run forever. And sometimes we have to deal with our problems before they absorb our strength only to ambush us in the night. What you're doing is wonderful, but don't do it just to avoid the darkness."

He kept that particular letter. Used it as a bookmark in _Madame Bovary._

It had become quite obvious he wasn't the only person here escaping darkness. Not uncommon to find his fellow volunteers comforting each other through bouts of tears. However, it was also not uncommon to find them laughing together, singing along with the muggle radio or dancing in the conservatory.

In fact, the only person he hadn't seen crack her shell was their coordinator. She was ever diligent and business, brisk and taut as a drumhead. She gave out assignments and worked as hard as the rest of them, throwing herself as passionately into the fray as Harry did.

He wondered if she was even in contact with her husband. If she ever saw her son. She certainly didn't seem to have any contact outside of the hospital, really. And he rarely saw a Prophet lying about, too.

So it was a surprise to find her tucked into a shadowed nook in the linen closet crying over a letter. Harry blinked, the levitating load of blankets and towels threatening to spill from his spell, deciding what to do. _I should just leave…or step back out and make some noise…she won't want me to see her crying…I should hold her…_

"Mr. Potter." Her voice barely quivered.

_Damn. _He stepped further into the storage room. Metal racks glinted in the ambient light. "Sorry," he murmured. He settled the linens on a trolley and tucked his wand back into his pocket. "I was just…"

"Of course." She sniffed and folded the parchment. Spiky masculine script read 'Cissa' and Harry knew it was from her husband. Unless there was some other man who called her 'Cissa,' and he highly doubted that. She was smoothing her hands over her trim skirt, gathering her wits. "If I might ask of you to not mention this to the girls?"

"I wouldn't, Mrs. Malfoy."

"Thank you." She straightened, looking more her usual confident self and turned to the door.

"Mrs. Malfoy?" She glanced over a shoulder at him. "If there's anything I can do…" He gestured helplessly, and her answering expression was just as helpless. She shook her head and scurried from the room.

Harry's last task that day was to stock and organize the nursery supply closet. He didn't mind the hard work, but the several trips to various departments for enormous loads of sundries were exhausting. Plus, he worked a little over his usual six o'clock, thereby missing dinner. He decided to visit the conservatory fridge for a snack, and heard the music as he rounded the corner.

_Like a fool I went and stayed too long_

_Now I'm wondering if your love's still strong_

_Oo, baby, here I am, signed, sealed, delivered, I'm yours!_

He smiled, recognizing the old tune. He'd heard it often on Privet Drive. Aunt Petunia had been fond of a radio station that played primarily older pop and rock music. He liked this one.

In the bright conservatory, Cho, Padma and Parvati were dancing, laughing at each other's antics. Harry stood in the doorway unnoticed for a time, watching them until Padma caught sight of him mid-twirl. "Harry!" She squealed.

"What?"

The twins pulled him gracelessly into their fracas. "You can't just watch!" Parvati said. "You have to show us some muggle moves!" And perhaps exhaustion, the excitement of a shared joy, or simply the music itself pushed Harry to motion. He grinned and spun, dancing with each girl in turn.

_Here I am baby_

_Signed, Sealed, Delivered, I'm yours_

_(You got my future in your hands)_

_Here I am baby_

_Signed, Sealed, Delivered, I'm yours_

_(You got my future in your hands)_

Drawing on the music videos he'd seen growing up, Harry _did_ give up some muggle moves: the Moonwalk, the twist, mashed potato and even a modified Mick Jagger impression that left his cohorts heaving with laughter. He was preparing to walk like an Egyptian when the girls froze and gasped collectively.

_I've done a lot of foolish things_

_That I really didn't mean, didn't I?_

He turned slowly and saw their coordinator standing in the doorway, a hand covering her wide smile. "By all means, Mr. Potter." The hand flicked in his direction. "Do carry on." Her smile showed pretty white teeth.

He blushed brightly. "Actually…um…I'm alright." His cohorts snickered at his embarrassment and he turned toward them. "You were dancing, too!" He looked back to Narcissa. "They were dancing, too."

_Oowee baby, you set my soul on fire_

_That's why I know you're my heart's only desire_

Cho flicked the switch on the stereo, silencing it abruptly and making Harry's last statement ring loudly. Narcissa shook her head. "No policy against dancing, Mr. Potter." She took a deep breath and addressed the group. "St. Mungo's has a Ministry Inspection tomorrow. Staff and volunteers alike should look their best, just in case. And I don't have to tell you to behave yourselves. Let the others know as you see them tonight so they can have cleaned and pressed uniforms. Alright?"

"Yes, Mrs. Malfoy," the group chorused.

She smiled again. "Mr. Potter perhaps you should dance for the inspectors tomorrow. I imagine they would appreciate a well-rounded talent such as yours."

Harry's blush deepened at his friends' laughter. Cho gave him a once-over. "I suppose we could all use a little sprucing up before tomorrow. Padma? Will you give us a mani tonight?"

The Gryffindor squealed. "Oh, I'd love to! Come on. I've got a lovely purple you'll love. Parvati, fetch us a bowl, will you?" The trio was headed out the door when Cho turned. "Want a manicure, Mrs. Malfoy?"

Narcissa glanced at her nails. "I thank you girls, but I'll pass. I've still some work to do."

"G'night, then." Cho smiled back at Harry. "G'night to you, too…Fred Astaire."

"Who's Fred Astaire?" Padma asked in the corridor.

Harry looked down shyly. "Sorry about the uh…dancing."

"I didn't complain." Her lips pursed and her hands were doing the nervous flicking. "Mr. Potter."

"Yes?"

"You need a haircut."

"Oh."

She hesitated again. "I'm rather good with hair. If you like, I could…"

"That'd be nice." A part of him thrilled to the thought of her attentions, her touching his hair, touching _him_.

She was obviously relieved. "Good! We can use my office, then." She turned to go.

"Do you mind if I grab a snack first?" Harry gestured to the refrigerator. "I skipped dinner earlier."

"Silly boy." Narcissa tisked. "You mustn't get so caught up in the work. It will still be there after dinner." She cocked her head. "Come with me. I'll take care of you on both counts."

In her dim office was a covered tray under a warming charm. She lifted the silver lid to reveal steak, green beans and a baked potato. An empty bowl held a crust of bread. "An elf brought it up to me earlier. I ate the soup."

His mouth watered. "I'm not going to eat your dinner, Mrs. Malfoy."

She whisked her wand and a leather wing-back sidled up to her desk. "Sit. Eat. It's ridiculous to let it go to waste."

He sat. She slid into her own chair tiredly, looking at him from across her desk as he ate. _I'm having dinner with her_, Harry thought. His mind swelled with the possibility. _Sort of…_

"How are you getting on, Harry?"

It was the first time she'd called him by his given name. He withheld a smile. "Fine. Thank you."

"No. Thank _you_." Her head lolled against the chair back and Harry watched her neck. "You've been an excellent help. I'm glad you came to us."

"Well, the work is good," Harry said. "It's what I needed."

She blinked. "You know…many of the volunteers are here because they don't have homes any longer."

"I know. I'm lending mine to the hospital, actually."

Her brow rose. "Grimmauld Place? I played there often as a girl. Your godfather and I were cousins, you know."

Strangely intimate, this; talking in hushed tones, the moonlight in her hair, him eating her food. Harry felt drowsy. "I know." He thought of the pictures he'd found – the few that were in his room at this very moment.

"I remember Sirius rather fondly, believe it or not. He was…a scamp." She sighed wistfully. "There was a time long ago when the Blacks were a family." Her eyes fell to his nearly diminished plate, and she changed the subject acutely. "I wanted to volunteer Malfoy Manor as you did. But Lucius…"

Harry settled his knife and fork politically, stifling the odd curl that attempted to control his top lip. "Lucius?" He prompted.

Her eyes met his again. Unspoken things swirled there like star clusters. "Lucius is Lucius," she said simply. And the discussion was tabled. "Ready? I don't want to keep you up too late." She'd drawn her wand. The ebony and silver studded instrument glistened as though wet in the moon's glow.

"Ready." Her fingers were what he'd expected, really; efficient and firm, warm and quick. They felt amazing ruffling his hair about. She was formulating her plan of attack, it seemed.

"I used to cut Draco's hair," she murmured. "Yours is different. Like your father's. Unruly."

His eyes opened. "You knew my father."

"Mm-hm. Vaguely. And your mother. Though I can't claim we were ever 'friends.'" She whispered and he felt a slice through his hair. Her magic tingled. Very strong. He remembered briefly dueling this witch and knew she was a formidable opponent. "We had a few classes together at school." Another slice. Her cutting seemed as certain as her manner and soon dark hair peppered his white oxford shirt. "Would you like to know anything about them?"

His throat tightened. He knew enough of his father, really. Between Snape's memories and the reminiscences of now dead Marauders, he knew quite a bit. He didn't know much of his mother. Beyond her moving pictures and her all-consuming sacrifice, he knew next to nothing. "No," he said.

She paused. Possibly surprised that he'd refused her offer. "Very well." Her fingertips occasionally brushed his nape or his temple. The temptation to lean into the innocent touches was strong. Truthfully, he didn't want to hear her talk about his mother because he didn't want to be reminded that this witch cutting his hair – this witch who'd awakened lust in him – was old enough to _be_ his mother.

He didn't want the math, the years, the dates, the digits. They were just that, after all: numbers. All he wanted – needed – at the moment was _her_: all dressed in white, fussing over him. The nurse to his soul. The mother to his desire.

She moved to his front to tackle his bangs and he was treated to a view of her chest again. His height even seated gave him a bird's eye perspective, in fact. Beneath the fitted cotton v-neck she wore a stiff brassiere of some sort. The barest hint of lace said it was white or perhaps ivory. The lighting made deciphering color difficult, but created gorgeous shadows on breasts that were round and full. Not too big, but not small like Ginny's.

The sudden comparison stymied him for a moment. He couldn't compare this witch to Ginny. Ginny was still practically a girl as he was practically still a boy – or would be in Narcissa Malfoy's eyes. This witch was already a woman – a mother filled out by age, childbirth and the pitfalls of marriage to a Death Eater. His eyes dropped to her waspish waist. _But hell, she looks bloody well fit for a mum. _

He had a sudden image of his hands wrapping round that waist. Sliding over those hips. Cupping that arse. She stepped away from him, broke his reverie. "Much better," she said, smiling down.

_Draco's mother._ Harry smiled up at her in turn. The terrible truth that lurked at the base of his brain burst from its cocoon and fluttered violently to freedom. "Thank you," he whispered.

He needed this witch - his ex-feral-enemy who once taunted him with her very bearing; needed to know her, feel her hands on him at least once more if not for eternity. He needed to own her and in doing so be owned by her. He needed to be cradled in her arms, heart and thighs. He needed most primally to fuck her blind.

One last touch to his hair and she pocketed her wand. His body was on fire, and he was glad of the dimness and his dark trousers. Hopefully his erection was well hidden. "I officially release you," she said. "Just shave before tomorrow morning's meeting." Her knuckles scraped the two days of beard on his cheek, sending a further charge to his groin.

"I will." He stood, turned away from her quickly. "Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy. For dinner and the haircut. For everything, really." The chill of the door's latch brought him a hint of calm.

"You're welcome, Mr. Potter." She stood in her office door, watching him enter his room. Silhouetted in silver, one arm bent in the door's frame, she was an oracle – a goddess vision. "Sweet dreams."

He imagined they would be.

At the next morning's meeting, Harry was a bit brighter eyed than his colleagues. He'd slept well, and indeed… his dreams had been littered with gloriously filthy compromising images of himself and Narcissa Malfoy. He woke early for a wank, shower and shave – per her request.

And he didn't miss her approving glance when she breezed into the conservatory. "Good morning. Don't we all look quite smart?" She handed out lists of duties for the day. "Keep in mind inspectors are about. There's no guarantee, of course, that you'll run into them. But if you do, please represent St. Mungo's well, even if we are mere volunteers. News, questions or concerns?" At a round of headshakes, she nodded. "Very well. Enjoy your tea. And have a good day."

With that, she was off to her own solitary tea and work. Harry nodded to her as she slipped past him, and she slid her hand quickly across his jaw, surprising him. Her eyes were bright when he met them, his own probably wide and stupefied. "You clean up well, Mr. Potter," she spoke so softly he knew no one else heard her.

His gaze flicked to the girls gathered round the table, discussing their duties and preparing their breakfasts. They'd seen nothing of her caress. And when his eyes flicked back to their coordinator, she was gone.

Harry managed to avoid any inspectors, but he did spend his day in a confusing malaise. Remembering her touches put him in a state of complete befuddlement. He accidentally delivered a load of baby linens to adult long term care, and dropped a case of nipples outside the nursery supply closet. The staff had snickered happily at his modified nipple-summoning spell. After spilling a container of disinfectant all over himself and two Healers, he decided to knock off early, and went to the cafeteria.

He'd just stepped into the first floor lift with his dinner tray when he heard his name. "Mr. Potter!" He knew her voice like honey in his tea, and used his foot to stop the lift gates.

"Mrs. Malfoy." She stepped in beside him, slightly flustered and clutching a folder to her chest.

"Thank you."

"Headed back to our ward?"

"Yes. Eight," she intoned. The rickety lift began to rise. Her lips quirked. "I…I heard about the nipples." She was trying not to laugh. It was terribly sexy.

Harry grimaced, tried not to think of _her_ nipples. "Yeah. That."

"Nice spell work, though."

His grimace turned to a grin. "Well. Necessity is the mother of invention."

"True." She finally allowed her smile, nodded to his dinner. "Off then for the evening?"

"Yes. I think I should quit while I'm ahead."

"Good idea. Any plans?"

"Just reading. You?"

She shuffled the folder she held. "I've some figures I promised I'd take a look at for Healer Wynn. Budgeting. Boring, but…" A graceful shrug. "What are you reading?"

"_Madame Bovary._"

"Oh." She blinked. Her lashes were remarkably long and he wondered briefly if she could feel them fluttering against those high cheeks. "Muggle book."

"Yes. I've been reading quite a few."

"Interesting… I enjoy reading, too."

"Really?" Every puzzle piece that comprised her was a gift, it seemed. "What are you reading now?"

"I just finished _The Sword of the Sea_."

He hoped his surprise wasn't offensive to her. He was familiar with the new wizarding title, popular particularly among men. "Oh. How was it?"

Her eyes crinkled adorably. "It was what one would expect. Swashbuckling magical pirates, mermaids, sirens and bodice-ripping."

A flash of the lace he'd glimpsed beneath her top the night before and he swallowed. "Sounds exciting."

"Would you like to borrow it?"

"I would." His heart sped a little. "I'll trade with you. I'm almost done with Flaubert."

"Alright." Was that anticipation in her eyes? The thrill of reading a muggle book? They walked quietly down the corridor together, separate from the bustle of the hospital at last. "Wait. I'll get that book for you."

Harry stood at his door as she instructed, but couldn't resist a glimpse inside her quarters. They were definitely larger than his, and had a window overlooking a full-size bed. Same neutral colors, it seemed, but draped across her tan duvet was a swath of white satin. A dressing gown, perhaps? _Merlin, help me. _Just what his fantasies needed – more salacious textures covering this forbidden witch.

He jerked upright when she darkened the door again, holding out a veritable tome bound in red leather. "Wow." He hefted the book. "This should keep me busy."

She ducked her head shyly. "It reads rather quickly, actually. I hope you enjoy it."

"I'll hand off _Madame Bovary _tomorrow."

"Fine. Fine." She was nodding unnecessarily. He wasn't sure why. "You can leave it on my desk if I'm out. I leave the door unwarded."

"I will." Harry gestured to her with his tray. "Want some of _my_ dinner this time?"

She looked touched by his offer, as if she'd never been offered someone else's free meal before. Of course, she probably hadn't. "Oh…no. No. I ate earlier. But thank you. Really. Thank you." Her left foot rubbed the back of her right calf. Harry stared at it, almost felt it against his own calf. "Have a good evening, Mr. Potter."

"Yeah…you, too. Mrs. Malfoy." Her legs disappeared slowly back into her room, and Harry realized he hadn't looked back to her face once before her door closed.

The book was heavy on his chest. He laid on his bed staring up at bland white ceiling and thinking. When did it start? The wanting that came in such devastating waves... Did fingers in a forest force such wild desire? Could one tense and terrifying moment bind a mind to an idea like a sticking charm? Or had it always lurked there... He thought back on the times he'd seen the woman in his youth. The time he'd stared at the hourglass of her body at the Quidditch World Cup and thought, "How wasted is that body on such an icy bitch?"

He'd thought how perfect she and Lucius Malfoy were for each other - both so disgusted by anything other than themselves that it was a wonder they could function at all in outside society.

And he'd believed absolutely that day in Madam Malkin's that Narcissa Malfoy was capable of killing him. She'd struck him as such the lioness when it came to protecting her spoiled, ferretous son that he was almost surprised she hadn't been a Gryffindor. Of course, she would probably be mortified to hear such a thing. But still...

Was it her strength, then? Her fearless sense of self-righteousness that drew him to her? He grimaced and shifted his erection. It had to be more than tits and ass. Right?

A part of him piped up meekly then, saying, _envy?_ And his forehead creased. Was I jealous of Draco Malfoy? Of her doting, enduring motherhood? A thing I never knew? Is that what I want from her? Skint knees kissed, haircuts and hot meals? Her pride and praise? "Is this because I wasn't breast-fed?" He asked aloud.

But thoughts of her breasts spiked fervent flickers of desire in his already blazing brain and the erection intensified. He sighed in frustration and cast her book off his chest, opening his trousers matter-of-factly. He flipped through files of images until he settled on a fantasy involving her and a dressing room in Malkin's. The dream-sex was rather angry, so he fisted himself accordingly and it wasn't long until he'd sprayed his hand with the evidence of his deviance.

No, he didn't want a mother.

He wanted Draco Malfoy's mother...

**AN: **Again, I tip my tiny hat to my brilliant Britpicker intoxicatedminds. This chapter brought to you by some music: _Signed, Sealed, Delivered_ belongs to Stevie Wonder. And though they're not outright featured, I relied heavily on A Perfect Circle's _The Nurse Who Loved Me _and the Decemberist's lovely album _The Hazards of Love_._  
_


	3. Five Minutes

**Beware of Smut**

The Volunteer

Chapter Three: Five Minutes

Harry finished _Madame Bovary _that evening. He found the end incredibly depressing, and had thusly started reading _The Sword and the Sea_ to find some comfort for the night. The book itself was as entertaining as Narcissa had promised, but the content wasn't what kept him distracted. The binding, the pages, the front and back covers all smelled like _her_. That remarkable spicy scent, sharpened away from her warm skin. He flipped the pages occasionally just to get a breath of it.

In his dreams that night, he was the captain of a magical flying pirate ship, and Narcissa was his buxom, breathless captive. His wand alarm sounded just as he was ripping her bodice.

A little groggy and frustrated, Harry stopped at her office on his way to the morning meeting. He knocked, and when no answer came, he pushed open the door. She was out, probably already at the conservatory, so he dropped Flaubert on her desk.

The book settled beside an ornate little bottle. Curious, Harry lifted it. It was glass; heart-shaped, with a vine wrapped round it. Knowing what was to come, he lifted the stopper and inhaled. His eyes closed. Yes. That was her. Enchanted for the day, he put the bottle back.

There was excitement in the conservatory. Cho and the other volunteers were clustered around the table there, chattering and laughing. From the sounds of pleasure emanating from the group, Harry deduced they were also eating. "What's all this then?"

Parvati waved him over. "Chocolate, Harry! The best, too! You have to have some!"

Harry peered over her shoulder at the gilt octagonal box. It looked expensive. "Where did this come from?"

"Mrs. Malfoy's husband sent it!" One of the younger volunteers supplied.

Harry's lip curled instinctively. He looked about. Mrs. Malfoy herself leaned on the wall near the doorway, frowning. She caught his eye and held it. He saw his list in her hand and approached. "Mine?" She handed over the parchment. "If you don't jump in soon, there will be no more of your chocolate left for you."

"I'm watching my girlish figure." There was a hint of bitterness in her tone, and Harry got the impression she would not be having this chocolate by choice. "Have a good day, Mr. Potter. I know I will." She left the room briskly, leaving Harry staring after her.

A chocolate appeared in his face. Cho held it aloft. "Here, Harry."

He took it. "What's wrong with her?"

Cho shook her head. "She's stuck with Healer Grayson's budget, apparently. He heard she was good with figures, and she can't say no."

"Oh." Harry's forehead creased as their coordinator disappeared down the corridor. He suspected a combination of chocolate and Lucius Malfoy might also be to blame somehow, but could only speculate.

Afternoon tea found him back in the conservatory. Rachel and Padma were there, lounging on a sofa when he entered. "Hello," they chimed.

"Hey." He poured himself a cuppa from the teapot on the dining table. "How are your days so far?"

"Slow." Rachel stretched, raven locks pouring over the arm of the sofa. She was a pretty girl, and she knew it. "Yours?"

Harry sipped. "Slow, as well." In fact, his list for the day was done. It had been surprisingly short. "Anything else come up?"

Rachel laughed, turned onto her stomach and grinned coyly at him. "Course not. But it's not like we're chasing down work. Do you ever relax, Harry? I could give you a backrub." Parvati withheld a smile at this.

But Harry just shook his head. "No, thanks." He poured another cup of tea and prepared it quickly. "I prefer the work." He was out the door before her offended gasp was finished.

He took a deep breath before knocking gently on Narcissa's office door. "Come in," she said. She sounded tired.

"Tea time." He entered with a smile and set the cup upon her desk.

"Oh, Ha – Mr. Potter." She was definitely tired. "You're too kind." She dropped her quill and took up the cup. Her little moan of enjoyment gave him a painful swelling in his trousers. "How did you know how I take it?"

"I'm observant."

Again her eyes grew wistful. "I truly appreciate this. And the book. I look forward to reading it."

"When you're not slaving over someone else's work." He hoped he sounded teasing and not as angry over the injustice as he felt.

She settled back in her chair, relaxed a little. "I want to help, but they've made such an impossible mess of the budget. Grayson wants realistic projections." She flicked a hand at it. "I'm decent with basics, but my arithmancy is…out of practice."

"I was pretty good at it, surprisingly." He told the truth, but he imagined he would have said almost anything to remain in her presence for a moment longer.

"Really?" Intrigued, she unrolled the parchment before her. "Here. Take a look at this, then." She shifted her chair to the right, making space for Harry at her left.

Heart beating so loudly she could probably hear it, Harry moved behind the desk and leaned in beside her. The warm spicy scent was magnetic, and her tapered finger tapped a line. "This. I can't get it to balance."

"May I?"

She handed over her quill and Harry jotted some figures in the margins, fondly remembering Arithmancy class at Hogwarts and Hermione's tutelage. But Narcissa was right. This equation wouldn't balance. "Something's not right in the information. A date must be wrong or some other figure. What we're doing should work. I'd check with Grayson. See if he recognizes any errors."

He looked down to see a brunette coil brushing his arm. She was leaning very closely to the parchment. He smelled her shampoo. "I see. Suppose that is the simplest solution, isn't it?" She looked up, propped her head on one elbow. "Thank you again, Mr. Potter. You're invaluable."

He looked at her lips. They were wet with tea. A moment opened up and challenged him. "I have my uses," he whispered.

She wasn't stupid, he knew. She was married over twenty years with a teenaged son. Harry had every idea she was sharp and insightful. So she had to know he was going to kiss her. But when his lips touched hers, she gave a tiny whimper of shock.

Her lips were soft as he'd imagined, and yes he tasted tea. She didn't resist him, didn't pull away or push him. And when he angled his chin to deepen the kiss ever so slightly, she angled to compliment. _I'm kissing her._ His hands curled on the desk and over the back of her chair. He risked a tiny peak and found her beautiful eyes quite closed, the lashes shadowing her cheeks and her eyeballs moving slowly behind their lids.

Growing bolder, he opened his mouth a hint, thrilled when she did the same. His own tiny moan escaped. He felt the hand supporting her head slip up to touch his face. Her fingers were light and wondrous. She barely stroked his shaved chin, and Harry returned the gesture uncertainly, raising his hand from the table to her face.

She took a breath at the sweet touch. The inhalation was cold and the exhalation hot. Harry decided a stronger taste was in order. He met her tongue with his own, pushed at it.

And she shoved away on a groan. "Stop," she hissed.

"I'm sorry." He could barely speak, and couldn't seem to straighten his back. "I'm…I didn't mean to…"

"Course you didn't." Her chest was rising and falling quickly. "Stress…"

"Yeah. Stress." He stood.

Her eyes filled with tears and she rubbed both hands across her face. "You should go."

"Please, don't cry." He reached for her hand.

She smacked his fingers away. "I'm not crying. Don't be foolish."

"I didn't mean to –"

"Then don't!" There was strain in her raised voice, a slipping of tightly maintained control. "Go! And…" She waved a hand as he backed away. "Forget this happened."

"I can't."

She scoffed. "You're young. I assure you, you can forget."

He was backed nearly all the way to the door. "Mrs. Malfoy…"

"Out!" She wouldn't turn toward him, and he heard true tears in her tone. "Before I see fit to assign you elsewhere."

He hurried into the hall, leaned against her closed door. He breathed deeply, still smelled her scent, tasted her on his lips. Inside her office, he thought he heard porcelain shatter.

"Harry?" He looked up to see Cho just down the corridor. She was paused in her doorway. "You alright?"

He swallowed. "Yeah! Yeah, Cho. I'm fine. Just…tired."

Cho blinked, but let him have the benefit of her doubt. "What about Mrs. Malfoy?"

"She's fine, too. I took her some tea."

"You're really kind, Harry." Cho said. "I'm going to have a lie-down, I think. My list is done for the day."

"Sounds good." Harry managed to push away from her door. His hand shook when he reached for the latch on his own. "See you at dinner, then?"

"Dinner."

He sat at the end of his bed for quite some time, turning his wand in his fingers. It was something he did when he needed to think. And he was currently thinking very hard about why he'd kissed his coordinator, why she'd kissed him back, and more importantly, why she'd pushed him away.

When had this obsession started? When he'd seen her girlish pictures? No, if he had to be honest he would admit it was long before that. He'd dreamed about the moment in the Forbidden Forest many times since it had occurred. The dreams were alternately realistic, surreal or downright erotic. He'd no idea why his subconscious concocted these thoughts of Narcissa Malfoy – only that it did, and no notions of sensibility or appropriateness could squelch the intrinsic desire to _act_.

But _now_ what? Now how was he to face her, to work with her? How would she _be_? They'd started to talk, to become friendly. And now this… He sighed and fell onto his bed. Remembering the soft give of her lips and the question in her fingertips, he drifted off to sleep.

That evening, Narcissa appeared at dinner in the conservatory. "I'm glad you're all here." She had no pleasantries – just an arm full of papers she began distributing. "I hope you enjoyed your light day today because the next few will be minor hells. It seems that the hospital inspectors found many ways to improve efficiency. This means more work for the workers, of course. I've prepared your duty lists early as I shan't see you at breakfast tomorrow. I'll be in budget meetings for the next day or so. Mr. Potter."

"Yes?"

She looked at the list in her hand, not at him. "I'm afraid I've volunteered you for a rather more intensive task. Laundry in its entirety will be moving to another part of the hospital. The elves need strong arms and magic. So you'll report to laundry tomorrow morning. I suspect you'll be off the ward for a few days, so I've also attached your schedule for the next week." She handed him the parchments, still not catching his eye.

"Of course, Mrs. Malfoy." _Of course you want me off your ward, now. _He was surprised she wasn't transferring him altogether.

She made no reply aside from tightly pursed lips. "Any questions about your tasks?" She picked up a cuppa and sipped it. Harry wondered if it reminded her of their kiss. When no questions were forthcoming, she bobbed her hat to the group. "Well, then. You all know where to find me. If I'm not in my office, leave a note. I wish you all well."

His nostrils flared when she left without a glance in his direction. His jaw tightened. _How dare she? Awfully cowardly for the witch who lied to the Dark Lord's face. _But as his anger flared, his sadness tempered it. _She's married and a mother of a boy my age. She probably enjoyed that kiss, and it probably scared the hell out of her. I shouldn't have done it._

_But she did kiss me back. _His mind made up, he too rose from the table. He hadn't much appetite, and felt his cohorts' eyes on his back as he left for his room. _Just give it a few days. Work. See what happens. _

"Off to bed?"

He looked behind him. Rachel stood in the doorway of her room, one tan leg crossed over the other. "Yeah," he said. "Tired."

"Too bad." She cocked her head coyly. "I'm lonely."

"Books make good company."

"You don't like me, do you, Harry?"

He paused at his door and regarded the girl. "It's not that. I just…"

"You like someone else, I think."

His top lip broke a sweat. "Not at all." He replied a bit too quickly.

The infernal girl gripped her doorframe and leaned teasingly into the hall. "Oh, I'm pretty sure you do. She told me so."

"What?"

"Cho! She told me you two had a thing for a while." She bit at her index finger suggestively and Harry looked away. "Did you come here to rekindle an old flame, maybe?"

"Hardly." His door clicked open. "Good night, Rachel." He shut out her sultry laughter, eager to climb into his bed and smell Narcissa's book.

The witch hadn't been lying. The four days he'd spent moving the laundry service were exhausting both physically and magically. The laundry rooms – with their network of exposed pipes, steam vents and bronzed machinery – reminded him pleasantly of the steampunk novels he'd enjoyed as a boy. However, they were impossibly hot and filled with grouchy, over-worked elves. And while he admired elves' magic, he had a hard time keeping their pace. He'd sweat so much in the last four days, he imagined he'd lost at least three of the extra pounds he'd gained at the Burrow. Not to mention, he rarely had much appetite.

He hadn't seen Narcissa in days. He knew she was around. Occasionally he would catch a whiff of her fragrance in the corridor near their rooms or the conservatory. But he hadn't had a word from her since she'd given him his delightful assignment.

Well, his assignment was nearly complete now. So soon enough, the witch would have to acknowledge his presence again. He looked around the new linen storage closet with satisfaction. It was a well-charmed room on the second floor, expanding to host far more towels, sheets and robes than the last storage closet. And it was surprisingly gratifying to know he'd been trusted to arrange it in his own fashion. He was sending an over-large stack of neatly pressed bed sheets to a high shelf when he heard the door bang open.

He turned, startled, and the sheets fell to the floor with a flutter and a thud. "What the –"

"Is this how you see me, Potter?!" Narcissa Malfoy was pink with anger and brandishing his book at him like a weapon.

"What –"

"Some…some empty-headed frippet bored by wealth and longing for romance? A…a common mudblood strumpet is all she is! Spreading her legs for any masculine pity. And a coward atop that – a suicidal…" Here, she spluttered a bit, struggling for the proper term. "…_slag_ with a constant need for attention! Is _this _how you see me?!"

She was no more than a foot from him, _Madame Bovary_ held to her chest and hairs loosed from her chignon suggesting she'd been rushing about to find him. "No!" Harry held up his hands as if in surrender, completely blindsided by her fury and strangely aroused at the same time. "I didn't –"

"Well, I don't need it." She interrupted and thrust the book toward him. Her tone was a low hissing growl. "Any of it. I don't need your…sympathetic stares eating me up all the time. _Poor old Narcissa Malfoy who saved my life in the woods that day. Let's make her feel pretty!_" She mocked. "_The old witch in her loveless marriage needs a little ego boost. I'll give her a kiss and see what happens. _Well, I hope I _amused_ you, Mr. Potter but I'll save you any further consolation seductions," she spat. "I'm. Not. This. Woman."

His lip curled. He jerked forward and she stepped backward. "Is that _really_ how you think I see you?" Heat swallowed his chest and he knew she could see his matching rage. He reached toward the book, but grabbed her delicate wrist instead. Her gasp was delicious as he wrenched her to him, the book pressing between them. "You beautiful bloody fool."

This time there was nothing gentle about his kiss. It wasn't asking permission. It was _proving – proving _that he saw her not as the Emma Bovary she'd interpreted, but as the pirate's willing captive: feigning distress to seek the adventure.

And she was proving him right.

After a second of token struggle, she more than melted. She _boiled_ in his arms; thrusting fingers into his hair and touching him as though he might disappear any second. She gave his mouth her teeth and her tongue, tasted like something vaguely citrus. She thrust her curves against him and his hands raped her body, eagerly squeezing everything in his reach. When he groped her arse, she groaned. They staggered weak-kneed til Harry felt a linen trolley at his back. It rocked and clanged, finally toppling when their feet tangled in the sheets he'd dropped.

Harry broke the kiss to steady them awkwardly on a set of shelves. "Sorry," he gasped. He felt every inch the awkward virgin he was.

But Narcissa volleyed well enough. She stroked his fevered face firmly. "Shhhh." A gentle kiss. "Stop. Stop for now." Her breath rattled and he realized she was unsteady on her feet because of him. She stepped away gingerly. He followed, held at arm's length by her insistent hand. "Not here."

"Not here," he repeated dumbly. But _somewhere_, and possibly _now_…

"Five minutes," she rasped. "Come to my room in five minutes."

"Five minutes." His cock ached in his trousers.

She was affixing her hair with trembling fingers, tugging her uniform back into some semblance of neatness. "Five minutes." She wiped at her mouth, knowing her lipstick was probably beyond repair, before walking to the door with amazing sangfroid.

Harry watched her leave in a haze of shimmering vaporous want. "Five minutes," he murmured to himself. Shaking, he lifted his wand and directed the fallen sheets to a shelf. His book tumbled from the self-folding mass and he picked it up. "Five minutes." He righted the toppled linen cart. "Five minutes."

He straightened his own attire as best he could. If he walked slowly to the lifts, then slowly to his ward, then slowly to her room…that would be, "Five minutes."

But the walk seemed to last forever. And the familiar faces that greeted him on his way just seemed like hurdles to be overcome. In the lift, he grew a bit dizzy and held to the railing. He took some deep breaths. He was going to have sex. _I'm going to have sex with Narcissa Malfoy. _He covered a grin with his hand.

The other volunteers were gathering in the conservatory, breaking into their dinner cliques. Everyone looked tired. Cho waved at him. Rachel winked.

"Harry, wanna come to dinner with us?" Parvati called out.

"No, thanks!" He barely glanced back over his shoulder. "I'm going to…uh…shower."

His feet seemed heavy once they hit the carpet of his corridor. And why was her room so damned far away? By the time he reached her door, it felt as though ten minutes had passed. He knocked twice and the door swished open immediately.

She stood on the other side looking (if possible) as nervous as he felt. "Hi," he said. "Um…I don't know if it's been five –"

She jerked him inside, and his book dropped forgotten to her floor.

The cool light of early evening had muted the room to a gray, but she hadn't closed the curtains he noticed. He could only breathe, watching her fuss the buttons on her jacket and cuffs. She shot an impatient glance over her shoulder. "Well?"

"W-well?" The door was reassuring against his back.

Her jacket dropped away to reveal an expanse of meringue-colored skin and an ivory lace bustier. His fingers itched to touch the lace. "Undress," she said, starting on the buttons at the back of her skirt.

His brain caught up to his cock at that moment and he stepped forward. "Let me," he murmured. He had to touch her, knuckles brushing her soft back as he unbuttoned her skirt. She shimmied it over her hips, revealing wide lacy knickers attached by garters to her silky stockings. His mouth went dry, hands finally moving over the shimmering material.

Sensing he was distracted, she turned in his loose embrace. Their eyes met briefly, reflecting amazement at one another and she began working the buttons on his oxford. The skin above the waistband of her knickers was particularly soft and Harry stroked it. "You feel good," he mumbled. He was staring at her breasts and jolted violently when her fingers suddenly stroked his stomach, traced the tight planes and the trail of dark hair. "Oh!"

"Sweet goddess," she whispered. "You can't be real."

Those sinful fingers dipped just beneath his trousers and he kissed her, pressing against her to stop her exploration. He was dreadfully afraid that should she touch anything below his belt, he might not make it past introductions. He moved them to her bed and she sat, drawing one foot onto the mattress in a way that suggested she was deviously spry for her age. Harry put a hand on the raised knee, caressed it and watched as she worked open his trousers.

He stepped out of his shoes while she successfully disrobed him. Her little pink tongue peeked from her lips at the bulge in his briefs. She stroked it boldly, not nearly so shy as him, and he groaned in pain. "Don't."

"Isn't this what you wanted?" She looped fingers into the waist of his pants and started to tug.

He stopped her. "Mrs. Malfoy…"

"Harry." She looked up at him, eyes bright and smirking. "Are you going to call me Mrs. Malfoy whilst we fuck?"

The word on her lips was a surprising delicacy that curled his toes a bit. "I…"

"Please don't." She tugged against his resistance and his erection bobbed red and angry in the slight chill. Her eyes widened a hint. "My given name will suffice."

Then her lips were closing just over the head of his cock and he bucked, surging against her face. "Narcissa!"

She pulled away, fisting him with one hand while massaging his quivering hind with another. "Better."

"I won't last!" He gasped, held her jaw to keep her at bay. His face flushed hot with embarrassment, but she didn't seem to mind in the slightest.

"No, I suspect you won't. Not this time, anyway." She calmly removed his fingers from her face.

"This time…" His head fell back while hers bobbed. He could tell she was experienced in this particular activity. His knees trembled and he took hold of her hair and shoulder – not to guide, but to steady himself. She was as brisk in pleasuring him as she was in coordinating, and he was woefully correct about his stamina.

Remembering Ginny's distaste for his cum, he slid a hand back to Narcissa's jaw, felt it working his length in her mouth. "Guh…I'm…" He looked down and found her looking up. The image of her wide eyes and her mouth swallowing his cock whole stopped speech. He simply surrendered to a fierce orgasm, hoping she could forgive.

Gentle fingers stroked his sac as it emptied, and she pulled away from him without so much as a grimace. In fact, her lipstick seemed still intact. Hazily, he wondered if she'd imbibed all of his offering and could only assume she had. "Oh…"

She stood, belly brushing his now flaccid cock. Gingerly, she removed his glasses, setting them on the bedside table. "Lie down, Harry. It's alright."

Like an automaton, he followed her instruction, propping on one elbow to watch her. Her fingers were knowledgeable at the back of her complicated lingerie, but she turned away from him as it fell away, approached the window. She slipped the curtains closed, dimming the light even further.

Harry's brows creased. He raised up on his knees and crawled to where she sat smoothly removing her knickers and stockings. He caressed her back before reaching up and opening the curtains again. "Harry!"

"No," he said, kissing her neck. "I want to see you."

She shrugged him off. "I'm not a girl anymore, Harry. My body -"

"I don't want a girl." He thought of Rachel, of Cho and Ginny. At the thought of Ginny, his eye twitched and he compartmentalized. "I want you." He pulled at Narcissa's elbows until she relaxed and turned to him. "Come here."

He tugged at her until she faced him, kneeling. They were equalized this way, embracing slowly, kissing slowly and exploring whatever their hands could reach. Harry felt himself hardening against the pooch of her belly – an extra tiny curve he found to be stunning evidence that this witch had carried life within herself. Once she was pliant enough to let him maneuver her, he took in as much of her body as he could.

Breasts he'd expected to be bigger were perfect brimming handfuls, the mauve nipples hardened to rounded peaks by his lips and palms; an arse full and tight, ticklish muscles rippling under his fluttering fingers. She gasped or even chuckled now and then, hiding those girlish reactions in his neck or shoulder, and he would coax her back to his lips each time. Her vengeful fingernails against his scalp and down his back made him jerk and snort.

When his fingers finally sought to explore the electric fur of her apex, she whimpered in his mouth. "I'd like to lie down if you're going to do that."

He lowered her to the bed, curling to her side so he could watch her like a scientist might. She was flushed and pretty in the last vestiges of shyness, parting her legs hesitantly. His eyes devoured the pink secret hidden beneath scratchy dark down, swollen with blood and wet. It occurred to him he'd never in his days seen a woman's cunt properly. His fumblings with Ginny thus far had been strictly beneath knickers and blankets.

But this was hardly fumbling. This grown witch was arching into each curious touch and encouraging him with her own exquisite red varnished fingers. "There," she whispered, slipping his index finger across her clit. "Gently. Like that. Oh!" She pulled his lips to hers, hissed against them. "You're good at this, Harry."

His head – and other body parts – swelled at her words. The fact that she had no idea this was his first time was inspiring, and he suddenly remembered all the things he'd wanted to try with Ginny. "Can I taste you?"

"Oh, Merlin…" She pressed down on his head. "By all means."

He kissed his way down her body, focusing far too long on her breasts, pushing the peachy spheres together to lave them with his tongue to her breathy appreciation. The undersides were obviously ticklish and she squealed a little when he nipped there. He chuckled and continued on his way, nipping gently at the skin over her ribs and the protrusions of her pelvic bone.

She was positively begging by the time he settled between her thighs, licking his lips in anticipation. He looked up to see her looking down on him this time, and he could only imagine the picture he made lowering his mouth to her hot weeping core. At the first touch of his tongue, her head lolled and his eyes closed. _Addiction_, he thought. This sweet sharpness… He could drink from her tap all day.

Her pure abandonment was an added attraction; the way her leg curled salaciously around his shoulders, the way her abdomen lunged into his mouth, the way her verbiage deserted deportment. "Oh, Harry. Sweet Circe, that's so good. Oh, hell. Put your fingers in me. Yesyesyes! Suck harder. Right there. Up! Up! Down. Faster!"

She keened and his fingers reached just that much farther, learning the textures and trembles of her innermost secrets. One texture in particular differed from the rest, and when he stroked it curiously, her entire body seized and she nearly ripped a shank of hair from his head. "Shite! Harry! That's it!" The rest of her utterance was comprised of guttural grunts and groans. Harry just held tightly to her thigh as she rode out that final encompassing pleasure.

Her hand and arm curved around his head like a snake coiling home. "Perfect," she whispered. She was hoarse, and her red lips were dry. "Oh, Harry…"

He crawled up her body, slicking over the sheen of sweat across her skin, thrilling to the feel of her thighs caressing his sides. "Okay?"

She chuckled, a low satisfied sound. "Very okay." Her arms draped over his neck, encouraging him to lay full against her. "You?"

He nodded. Pressed his forehead to hers. She made to kiss him, but he pulled back uncertainly, aware her scent – her essence – was on his face. "Um…"

Surprising him yet again, she licked his mouth lewdly. "Fuck me." Then her legs were around his hips pulling him inside her.

He gasped when fully seated against her pelvis, the most intrinsic sensation of sizzling wet velvet wrapping his cock in fiery wonderment. He pressed his face into her neck. "Oh. Sweet. Gods."

"Indeed. Move, Potter!"

He complied, confused at his hips' quick compliance. But it must have been instinct driving him into the witch. Instinct pushing his fingers into her hips. Instinct slamming his balls against her backside. Instinct burning a trail of molten indulgence up his tightening spinal column.

And if it _was_ instinct, then the same evolutionary spark was blazing into flame inside his lover. She flipped him like a huntress, like some long extinct mutual ancestor resurrected by primal magic. Her hands were a blur on his body, pressing one of his to her breast and the other to the steaming junction of their bodies. She posted with the grace and confidence of a dressage rider marked for championship status. "Brilliant," she hissed. "You're brilliant."

Harry was captivated by the bouncing of her breasts, the point of her chin as her head rolled on her shoulders. He felt that wicked build beginning again, too soon, too soon… He groaned. "Please, Narcissa."

She looked down at him, blue eyes darkened by rampant lust recognizing his distress. "I'm close," she growled. "So close." Her post fell to a grind and she leaned over him, cradled his face, kissed his lips, bit at them. When the whinging supplication wormed its way up her throat and into his ear, he braced for the vice grip he'd felt earlier on his fingers, read the ripples in her thighs.

"Ugh…yes..." She froze, contorted like a circus performer, her beautiful face ugly in passion's parody. And there it was…the bliss…the thing he'd read about, the thing he'd dreamt about: her orgasm swirling around his cock, mingling with the effervescent prickle of surrender that was his own, muscles milking him mercilessly.

He nearly wept for it.

They breathed like thoroughbreds after a race. Her face stroked against his. She kissed the sweat from his cheeks. His hand fell away from her breast, moved up to stroke her back. When she didn't roll away from him immediately, he embraced her loosely. Kissed her temple. "Alright?" He rasped in her ear.

"Mm-hm."

Stickily, she pushed away. His flaccid cock flopped onto his thigh, smeared the evidence of their mingling. She fell onto her back, one knee raised. "Gods…." She murmured breathlessly.

And thus began his first bout of sexual self-doubt. He turned his head to take in her profile. Hair mussed. Eyes closed. She _looked_ happy enough. There was even a small smile on her lips. "Did I…"

Her head turned toward him. "You did," she answered. Lovingly, she stroked his face. "And I hope I managed to keep up with those younger witches who came before me?"

Honesty was not a question. He was too depleted by lust to lie to her, and too far gone in fatuous bliss. "None came before you."

Her smile disappeared. The little lines beside her eyes smoothed as if a glamour dropped over them. She blinked quickly. "What?"

He rolled onto his side. "You were my first."

She shot up, wrapping the messed duvet around her nakedness as she scrambled from the bed. Pushing unruly blonde and black from her face, she regarded him with a hint of her dead sister's madness. "You're lying."

"I wouldn't lie about that."

"No!" She shouted, pointed a finger. "You were _not_ a virgin!"

Harry sat up, concerned at this reaction. "I _was_," he insisted. "Why does this matter? What the hell is wrong with you?"

She sighed, gripped her hair and sat at the foot of the bed. "Harry…" She didn't – couldn't – look at him. "You should have told me… Gods, I practically _raped _you!"

He grinned and laughed at that. "Hardly!"

But her fretting continued. "Oh, for fuck's sake. You're just a boy! If it was Draco… Merlin help me, I'd kill the witch." Her face fell into her hands.

"Well, I'm not your son. So get that thought right out of your head." Should he comfort her? She didn't seem very touchable at the moment.

"But you're still another witch's son! A good witch, at that! And I'm…"

"You're what?" He touched her shoulder anyway. "Don't you dare say you're a bad witch. If you were truly awful, I'd be dead…and you'd have flying monkeys."

"_What_?"

"Nothing."

She glared at him over her shoulder. the sheet slipped away, revealing skin pinkened by their recent lust. "Your first time should be special, Harry. It should be with someone you –"

"Who was your first?" He asked, not caring how rude the intrusion was.

"My husband!" Her answer was defensive.

The image of her bridal photo flashed before his mind's eye. "Did you love him?"

Her mouth worked, eyes darted about. "I…"

"That's what I thought." Harry fell back into her pillows. "Now. Come back up here, please. I'd like a proper bloody cuddle."

**AN: **Thank you intoxicatedminds for the Britpick! And a huge thank you to everyone who has followed, favorited and reviewed this fic. I'm so pleasantly surprised at its popularity, and hugely flattered by your responses. Your reviews - whether positive, negative or critical - influence this piece more than you can know. Don't hesitate to tell me what you think, and again - thank you all!


	4. A Million Ways to be Cruel

The Volunteer

Chapter Four: A Million Ways to be Cruel

Her breasts made fantastic pillows. Harry nuzzled them while she stroked his hair. When her hand settled sweetly splayed on his chest, the nails gently scraping, he nearly cried.

"Harry?"

"Yes?" They spoke quietly amid the blankets, naked with limbs tangled.

"What the hell compelled you into my bed?"

"This."

There was a pause while she considered his answer. "I don't follow."

His fingers fluttered over hers. "I've never really stopped thinking about that day in the forest. About you and your hands on me and your breath and your lie."

She made a sound of disbelief. "Well, this is far more than hands and breath and lying, Harry." She sighed, flexed her fingers beneath his and over his heart. "This is undoubtedly a huge mistake."

His jaw clenched. He refused to be hurt by her words. She was only being honest. "We can't exactly take it back."

"I know."

"You could have refused me."

"I'm well aware what I could have done."

"Why didn't you?"

She didn't answer immediately. He brought her hand to his lips, kissed the fingers. "Stop it," she whispered.

"Why didn't you refuse me, Narcissa?" He continued kissing her fingers.

"Dammit, Harry!" She jerked her hand away, shoved him off of her and turned to face him. "You have to understand what it's like for a witch my age. We're done! Our usefulness is over! We've borne the heir, decorated the manor, planned the luncheons. I'm a wife and mother and little else. Not to mention the wrinkles, the aches, the few extra pounds…" She frowned and touched his face, silencing his protest. "And then out of the blue there's this…beautiful young man who for some ungodly reason…_wants_ you. Stares at you like you're gorgeous, flirts, brings you tea, talks to you like you're the person your husband forgot you were." He could hear the tears held at bay in her voice. "I'd like to meet the woman who could say no to all that."

"I'm glad you didn't say no." Harry chewed his lip, thinking. "What happens now?"

Her brows rose considerably. "You're asking _me_?" She chuffed. "Hell if I know, Harry. _You_ started this. What do you want?"

He knew what he wanted. "I'd like to keep seeing you."

"Seeing me."

"Yes. Like this."

"You want to be lovers."

"Yes."

"I'm married, Harry." There was a plea in her tone, a plea for mercy of sorts, for understanding. But Harry only understood his own feelings, and they were strong and undeniable.

"I know."

"Eventually, I _will_ have to go back to my husband and my son, to my home."

"And I'll have to return to mine."

Frustrated, she rolled to her stomach and propped her head on her elbows, regarding him warily. "So…a tryst, then."

"Isn't a tryst a one-off thing?"

"Not necessarily."

"Can we call it an affair?" He negotiated.

She blew bangs from her eyes, looked mildly amused. "I suppose. Technically it will be."

He plucked the offending hairs from her face. They were sticky with sweat. "Will you enjoy it?"

"I think it's safe to say I will." She blushed and dropped her face into her hands. "For Merlin's sake… Eventually reality will set in and you'll realize you're fucking a 45 year old mother and that this cannot be fun for you." She peeked at him from between her fingers. "Is it? Fun, I mean?"

His tired smile was genuine. "Not the right word." He pushed a another moist strand of hair from her behind her ear. "It's intense. And you make me feel…like I have a reason to be the best I can be. At whatever. Work or…or this." He gestured between them.

"Oh, goddess," she groused. "You _do_ want a mother!"

He laughed. "I don't want a mother! Stop saying that."

"I could have just baked you a pie and lectured you about your marks, you know."

Harry groaned and wrestled her beneath him, nuzzled her breasts until she draped her arms over his shoulders. "I'm not interested in your baked goods." He kissed her and she looked very serious when he pulled away.

"This can't be about love, you know."

"I know." He did know, didn't he?

"I just don't want there to be any confusion of emotions, Harry." Her legs shifted, settling him between them. She arched herself against his already burgeoning erection. "It can only be about this."

He hissed when her hand moved to stroke his hard-on. "I know."

She didn't let him stay the night with her. After a brief nap and round three, she'd risen for the loo and rather gracefully kicked him out. "It won't do for the girls to see you leaving my room in the morning."

"Who's to say they won't see me leaving now?" He was seated at the foot of her bed, feeling awkward and noticing the love bites on his torso. She was a demon.

"It's nearly three in the morning, Mr. Potter. They'll be asleep."

He nodded as he pulled on his vest. "Mr. Potter. Right. And I suppose I shall call you Mrs. Malfoy whilst we're _not_ fucking?"

Her lips pursed and she tightened the sheet around her. "I think that's for the best, yes."

He shrugged into his oxford but left it unbuttoned. He knew he'd no right to be angry considering their earlier conversation. "Very well, Mrs. Malfoy." At her door, he gave a stiff bow. "I hope I satisfied. Have a pleasant evening."

"Mr. Potter, please – " But he closed the door on her protest.

He leaned against his own door and swallowed a lump in his throat. Silly to feel used, really. Silly to feel anything. She'd said so herself – that this couldn't be about emotion. But the feel of her fingers on his chest…and her back tensing and arching beneath his hands…

He threw his hastily donned clothing to the floor and stepped into the shower. Setting the spray to hot, he scrubbed her off of him. The spicy scent had mingled with their sweat and saliva and soured.

His thighs and shoulders ached. He hoped hers did, too. He hoped she had her own reminders; his scent, the bruises his fingers had left on her thighs and hips, the little mark his teeth had left on her bottom lip.

His bed was cool and crisp compared to the hot, sticky mess they'd left hers. He ran his hand across his mattress. Fluffed his pillow. Alone and exhausted, he felt his jaw relax at last. Each muscle seemed to unknit and come to rest.

_Was she right? Would I have felt like this if my first time had been with Ginny? _He scowled at the ceiling. Ginny wouldn't have kicked him out of her bed, surely. She would have spooned against him during the night like the women in the novels did. Ginny would have awakened him with gentle kisses and whispered promises. She would have called it 'making love.'

He thought of Ginny's slight fey form coolly brushing against him during the night and again he couldn't prevent the comparison. Narcissa was flesh and heat and clutching fingers that might just as soon kill him as caress him.

Harry smashed his face into the pillow and shut out his noisy thoughts. It didn't have to be about emotion. But she didn't have to be so damned callous, either.

Cho met him in the corridor the next morning. She was bright and chipper. "Morning, Harry."

"Yeah."

"You sleep alright? You look tired."

"Thanks, Cho."

She hid a smile as they rounded the corner into the lobby. Already, girls were gathered in the conservatory. "Didn't mean to offend."

"You didn't." He saw Narcissa chatting amiably with Rachel and Padma and his belly clenched up. "You're right, actually. I couldn't sleep last night."

"Well, if you want to catch a nap today, I'd gladly take a few of your tasks for you."

He grinned at her. Such a Gryffindor… "Thanks, Cho. You're really kind."

"It's what we do."

"Good morning, Miss Chang. Mr. Potter." Narcissa greeted them and Harry could swear she'd never even entertained a thought of touching him. He nodded and accepted the list she offered. She collected her teacup and addressed the group as she headed for the door. "Enjoy your tea and I hope you all have productive days."

Harry felt his nostrils flare and his eyes bristle.

"Mr. Potter?"

He turned to her, surprise and probably hope naked on his face. "Yes, Mrs. Malfoy?"

"Could I see you in my office for a moment before you begin your duties? You may bring your tea if you like." She was gone without waiting for his affirmative, and Harry's fellow volunteers 'ooooohed' at him suggestively. A chorus of 'You're in trouble' followed him from the conservatory on a wave of giggles.

The morning's sun lit her office to a cool gray. Harry closed the door behind him and stepped behind the wingback chair before her desk. She sat with a heavy sigh and rubbed her eyes tiredly. "Sit, please." He did as she asked, slouched a touch. He waited for her cold disconnect, his reassignment and dismissal. She seemed to have trouble meeting his eyes. "I hardly know how to… I feel I owe you an apology."

He blinked. _That was unexpected_. "What?"

"I must have seemed terribly cruel this morning." When she did meet his gaze, he saw what her makeup couldn't hide. A puffiness around her pretty eyes. "I wasn't thinking beyond self-preservation, I'm afraid, and unwittingly hurt you."

"Self-preservation…"

"Mr. Potter." She licked her teeth. "Harry. I absolutely cannot allow myself to develop feelings for you. Please understand that. I mustn't have you…sleeping with your arms around me at night or…just none of that." Her hands tapped her desk firmly. "And that was my thought when I asked you to leave my room this morning. But." Here, she took a deep breath. "I did not consider what I'd learned. That last night was…different for you. And for all of my talk about first sexual experiences being special, I certainly did nothing to make yours any moreso. For that, I apologize."

"I see." He _did_ see. But what to say? His earlier resentment seemed to melt under the warm breath of her acknowledgment. "Well. You didn't exactly know."

"I did after you told me."

"I don't know what you –"

"Please forgive me." Her mouth worked oddly. "That's all I want. And for you to know I am not so…vile as to take a young man's very innocence and leave him to the wolves!" Blue eyes begged him to understand. "And to know that while I am believed to be made of ice by many…I melt too easily." She shook her head, eyes wet. "And then the thin parts break and shatter. And I can't let that happen. And you..."

Harry watched her bare herself and saw a girl in her – not much older than him; painfully awkward inside with a world of expectations on her shoulders. He saw the girl in the picture – the girl in the wedding dress who smiled like a sacrifice. "I accept your apology," he whispered.

She let out a breath she may have been holding since he'd left that morning. "Thank you."

"Mrs. Malfoy."

"Yes?"

"It wasn't…" He shifted. "I'm not saying that…" He stood, and she looked up with something very akin to minor fear. "It wasn't meaningless. What happened between us. And I want you to know I feel…" _Why is this so bloody hard?_

"You feel what?"

There was a desperation in her voice. As if she longed to hear him say something in particular. But again he'd no way of knowing her mind, so he simply told the truth. "I feel sort of…privileged. I guess. That I was with you my first time. I was afraid it would be…awkward and awful, but… You made it wonderful. At least for me!" She was standing, too. He spoke quickly, afraid she would make for the door in light of this minor baring of his soul. "And I hope it wasn't awful for you, either. I mean, I know that I'm not - "

For a witch who claimed to be old and practically feeble, she was quick as lightning, shutting his mouth with her own. Her arms wrapped tight around him and he groaned when her fingers found their place in his hair. His own found their place on her bum and he lifted her easily onto the edge of her desk.

Their kiss was lewd, open-mouthed, tongues vying for dominance. Harry's glasses went crooked and Narcissa removed them. Harry heard them slide across her desk and stop near the opposite edge. He encouraged her head back and attacked her neck. He'd learned the areas beneath her ears were particularly sensitive and she whimpered when he licked there.

"Harry, Harry…" She hissed, grappling at his shoulders. "Oh, hell. I can't say no..."

His name on her lips was like a spell aimed at his dick. It was amazing how quickly he could achieve an erection around this witch. Harry went a bit dizzy, in fact. Then her hand found him through his trousers and he surged against her. "Can't do this here!" He gasped into her neck, but his fingers were struggling with the buttons on her jacket.

"Why?" She gasped back, and her fingers were opening his zipper already.

_Is she serious?_

"Just be quick. And quiet." She pushed at his pants, freed his cock to the cool air.

Harry lurched into her touch. Quick probably wouldn't be a problem, but quiet… He wanted to scream every time he touched her. He wrestled with her skirt until it was over her hips, but garters – while definitely the sexiest clothing articles he'd encountered thus far – were impossible to operate quickly. For the moment, he abandoned them in favor of tugging her bustier down until her breasts were joyfully freed.

"Beautiful," he murmured, palming a hard nipple.

"Harry." Her mouth was hot on his ear. "Focus."

"Focus," he repeated. A stupid grin curved his mouth. She was reaching between them, face centimeters from his, easily slipping her garters free. Her arms pressed her breasts together and Harry couldn't look away from them. His brain shut down. "Gods, I love your tits."

"I've noticed." She was smirking, wriggling out of her knickers and wrapping legs round his waist. "Oh!"

Harry buried himself in her in one thrust, slightly surprised by the heat and slickness of her. "Yes," he whispered. He planted his feet firmly, braced his knees against the desk to begin a quick rhythm of thrusting.

Narcissa muffled any grunts and cries in Harry's shoulder. Likewise, Harry huffed and cursed into her bosom. But the desk was not so conscious of possible discovery. It bumped, creaked, rattled and shook no matter how the lovers attempted to readjust. "Fucking hell," Cissa grumbled. Her temper was shortened by the burn of pleasure whirring gloriously in her abdomen.

Her hand left its clutch on Harry's buttock, traveled over his hip to the pocket containing his wand. She drew it, aimed it at the desk beneath them, concentrated as best she could and snapped: "Stabiliendum!" He vaguely heard his wand roll onto the floor as the desk stilled.

Her strong, cold magic swelled beneath them, creating an answering wave in his balls. The fact his wand had responded so readily to her would be considered later. He gripped her harder to him, pressed his lips to her sweating temple. "Shite, Narcissa. Come for me."

"I am," she keened in his ear, momentarily forgetting her 'be quiet' dictum. Then her fingers were wicked thorns in his arse and she cracked around him like a ceramic cannonball. Harry rode out her orgasm with a steadying hand behind her head, swallowing her mewls and whimpers in his throat as he answered her release with his own. When she was gasping for breath, he released her.

"Alright?" He asked. He was softening inside her, feeling her thighs relax and drop.

She nodded. "I'm fine."

"Rather risky, this." Not that he cared. He just wanted her to know he was conscious of the gamble they'd taken.

Another nod. "I know." Then she was pushing him gently away to affix her attire. He followed suit, tucked himself away with as much dignity as he could muster. It wasn't terribly difficult considering she looked like she'd been ritualistically ravished. She stood and he steadied her, delivering one last little kiss. This close, he saw the nick his teeth had left on her lip the night before and kissed that.

She cupped his chin, stretched up to his cheek. "You need to get to work," she whispered. "They'll suspect something, otherwise."

"Doubtful." Harry chuckled, embracing her loosely.

She pulled his hands from her back and kissed them before slipping away from him. She retrieved his wand, but paused before handing it over. "Harry?"

"Hm?"

"This is Draco's old wand."

He blinked a few times. "Yeah. I disarmed him. Remember?" He took the hawthorn from her, watching her contemplative face. It was odd, mentioning this bit of their past now. Harry wondered if it wasn't a mistake… And then he remembered how well his wand had responded to her moments earlier.

"I remember, yes. I'm just surprised you've kept it."

"It responds well to me, actually. We've become…attached." He looked at the simple wand before pocketing it. "Draco did get another, I assume."

"Yes. We both did." She drew hers from the holster attached to her belt. "He lost mine in the Room of Requirement." Then it was her turn to ask: "Remember?"

"Vividly." Harry, unthinking, reached for her wand. And unthinking, she handed it over. It was similar to her last one – one Harry remembered because of its uniqueness. This one was heavy, slender and feminine with a coil of raised silver wrapped round the hilt. He turned it hilt-toward-her and over his elbow when he handed it back. "It's beautiful. What is it?"

"Ebony and unicorn. Like my last one, actually."

"This one is unicorn."

She nodded. "As is his new wand. Runs in the family, I guess." She gestured to the door, business again. "If you would, Mr. Potter. We've work to accomplish today. And I would like a visit to my lavatory."

"Of course, Mrs. Malfoy." He gave her another brief bow, accompanied by a smoldering smirk in his eyes. She noticed, and shooed him away, biting her lip to maintain a stoic façade. In the corridor, he was smoothing his hair when he heard a cough.

He whirled ungracefully. "Cho! You scared me."

"Sorry." The Ravenclaw smiled at him. "Not in trouble, after all?"

"No. No. Just…" He pulled his list from his back pocket. "Couple of changes to my assignments and…" He shrugged. _Never was very good at lying on the fly – unless my damned life was at stake._

Narcissa emerged from her office at that moment, looking as put together as the devil's details. "Oh! Miss Chang! What brings you this way?"

Cho grimaced. "Had to change my jacket. I spilled milk all down my front with the lunch trolley."

Narcissa tisked. "I'm so sorry. But I see you had a replacement at hand."

Cho nodded, looking oddly between Harry and their coordinator. "The elves have been quite on top of laundry since the move." She ducked her head and waved almost shyly. "Well. I'm back to work then."

"Good day, Miss Chang." Narcissa chimed. She turned a coy, charming gaze on Harry. "You as well…Mr. Potter." She disappeared into her private room and Harry shook his head. The witch was vicious. And he had an idea he was only just beginning to count her million ways to be cruel. Not that he minded.

**AN: **A nod as always to my fabulous Britpicker - intoxicatedminds. And another outpouring of gratitude to all who have favorited and followed and especially those who have reviewed. Title and inspiration for this chappy come from the band OKGO and their song _A Million Ways to be Cruel_. Next chapter sees a bit of a wrench thrown into the works.


	5. Bloody Always

The Volunteer

Chapter Five: Bloody Always

Having an affair, Harry discovered, was an intoxicating and intimidating experience. He felt at the whims of fate, most days, effectively cowed by their situation to await Narcissa's beckoning. Not that her beckoning was lacking. In fact, he often wondered if he wasn't truly equipped to maintain her pace.

They spent most evenings together in her room, the arrangement being Harry came after supper and so long as the corridor was clear. He still didn't stay the night, but at least she didn't toss him quite so roughly out on his arse. In fact, more often than not, she seemed rather reluctant to let him go; her arms lingered around his neck, and her lips lingering near his own. He didn't encourage or discourage the lingering. He could feel in her a need to maintain distance, but that need seemed to struggle with a desire to feel tenderness.

And Harry had to confess his own desires were shifting dangerously, as well, so he tried to maintain their affair as she desired it. Quiet. Quick. Secret. Anonymous.

On a Wednesday afternoon, she found him in an abandoned consultation room on the fifth floor. He'd just finished dusting it when he felt the tingle of wards raising behind him. She was already shedding clothes when he turned, and possible discovery was a non-issue when he took her violently on an abandoned examination table.

Private luncheons in her office – those wherein no eyes saw them pass the conservatory – consisted of pleasantly acrobatic sex on the desk, her chair, the guest chair or the windowsill.

They took the occasional risk, yes, but Harry felt that if she'd been truly concerned with propriety she would have avoided kissing and groping in the lift, or letting him hike her in the conservatory's doorframe til her legs wrapped round his hips, or brushing her fingers across the front of his trousers while she covered the action with a strategic parchment. She wasn't stupid. She was just…

"In lust," she breathed.

Harry slowed his thrusts. "Is that what this is?" He kissed her arched neck. These were his favorite encounters. The scheduled evening visits in her bed, quiet and intimate and blessedly horizontal. This way, he could take his time, experience her every reaction to the fullest, enjoy every inch of her body and momentarily pretend they were making love.

She stroked his buttock with her foot. She was able to caress him with nearly every part of her body, agile and compact, making Harry feel like he could contain all of her within his embrace. And he held her very tightly when he fucked her, afraid at any moment she would escape like a nymph. But she curved to him with no intentions of escape.

"Gods, you make me feel…"

He cradled her face, looked down on her straining, pleasured features. "I make you feel what?"

She kissed his lips sweetly – something she rarely did even at the height of her enjoyment. "Everything," she whispered.

"Yeah?" He angled to nudge her thighs a bit wider and shallow his thrusts.

"Yes!" She tossed her head.

"Then come for me," he growled.

And she did.

After, she stretched like a cat beside him, groaning and punctuating the action with a mew. He smiled at her, stroked the round of her left breast. "You're really beautiful when you come, you know."

She chuckled. "You say the sweetest things. All people look like their closest ape cousin when they come, Harry."

"Do I?"

She considered. "Not exactly. You always look like…like an explorer who's found the lost city of Something-or-Other."

"I've never heard of Something-or-Other." She was amenable to some cuddling tonight it seemed, so he sidled up against her casually. "But I do feel like that. Sort of. It just feels so different every time, I guess."

"What does?"

"This. Us."

She turned against him and his hip felt the stickiness of her thigh. "It does, doesn't it?" Her gaze was wistful, and her fingers traced his features delicately. He closed his eyes, the touch making him peaceful and sleepy. "Don't do this to me. Please."

His eyes opened to find tears in hers. "What?"

But she only shook her head. Collected herself on a deep breath and rolled away. He propped as she cinched her dressing gown around her waist. "It's quiet," she murmured. "You should go."

He'd gotten too close to something again. It had happened more than once in the last few weeks. But he knew better than to argue. "Right." He pulled on his clothes, listening to water running in her bath. At least now she bade him a proper good-night.

Sure enough, she emerged from the loo to kiss him at the edge of his mouth. "Good evening, Harry."

"You, too."

"Perhaps lunch tomorrow?"

He smirked. "Of course."

"We'll meet in the office, then. Just in case."

He nodded. 'Just in case' meant 'just in case any of the girls are about.' A few times they'd had to avoid a liaison if any of the other volunteers saw him malingering. Harry was fairly certain they were safely secretive. Fairly. Sometimes, Cho looked at him in a way that said she suspected something…

As always, he entered his room with a sigh of relief. Another night undetected. He rubbed his face tiredly. His fingers still smelled like her, but he didn't mind, and he was too tired for a shower. He stripped and climbed into bed, set his wand on the bedside table.

Ginny's latest letter fluttered to the floor when he withdrew his hand. He rolled to retrieve it, held it for a moment before setting it back on the table. _Tomorrow. I'll answer her tomorrow._ He set his glasses atop the missive. _She knows I'm busy…_If he hadn't been so damned exhausted, the guilt might have kept him awake.

The next morning he worked deliveries with Cho. Bulk potions were often too sensitive for elf magic, so it took caring hands to make sure they arrived at their destinations. The fact that there were so many was a sad testament again to the war's toll.

They worked steadily together and were quiet for the most part, so it was a surprise when Cho cornered him with their cart in the potions storeroom. "Harry."

"Yeah?" He was holding two bottles of Boil-Eeze and probably looking ridiculous.

"I want to ask you something."

_Oh fuck._ He nodded calmly despite the pattering nuisance in his chest. "Alright."

She bit her lip and looked nervous. "I don't want to offend you."

_Definitely oh fuck._ "It's alright, Cho. You know you can ask me anything." He put the potions on the cart and turned to retrieve the next ones on their list. Hoped she didn't hear the nerves in his voice.

"Right. Kay." She sighed. "Are you…sleeping with Rachel?"

He'd never felt such an odd combination: relief, disbelief, humor and relief. And he couldn't have withheld the laughter if he'd tried. "Oh, gods Cho!" He looked at her, able to meet her eyes with truth. "No. Absolutely not."

She blushed. "I'm really sorry, Harry. I just –"

"Why would you think that?"

Cho shrugged. "Just the way she is. And she's sort of sneaky, anyway. Plus, she's said some things –"

"What things?" The idea of Rachel implying he'd done _anything_ with her was most retrograde to his desires.

"Oh nothing outright." Cho joined him in pulling potions. "She talks about trying to get you alone. Stuff like that."

"Bollocks." Harry chuffed laughter. "I don't think I've ever been alone with her. And I don't intend to be."

"Good." She smiled at him. Such a genuine smile. "I don't like her much. I think she's…"

"Been in more laps than a napkin?"

A bubble of laughter burst past Cho's lips. "That's one way of putting it, I guess. She's always rubbing in how she's so experienced and had all these boyfriends. Says guys _like_ older girls because they know what they're doing. You know." She hedged shyly. "In bed."

Harry tried not to think of all the incredibly salacious things Narcissa had taught him. "Well. This guy isn't interested." He playfully punched Cho's shoulder. "But thanks for watching out for me."

"I stuck up for you, actually." Her blush deepened a little. "Last night. I told her to lay off talking about you like that because you were devoted to Ginny. I told her I knew the type of person you are and that you'd never hurt the girl you're with. Then I sort of stormed out of the conservatory." She shrugged and checked the last potion off their list. "It was all very over-dramatic and Gryffindorish. If I must say so myself."

He couldn't even produce a fake laugh. A lead ball thunked into his gut and melted. "Thanks for that, Cho," he muttered.

"Well. It's true." She checked their cart. "I think we're good here. Ready?"

"Ready." His legs felt numb as they traversed their stops, and he barely remembered exchanging pleasantries with the healers, staff and patients they encountered. _I'm not that person. Not anymore. _

He was still thinking on Cho's words come lunchtime. Still thinking what a terrible person he was when he passed the conservatory. Padma smiled and waved at him. Rachel scowled a little. It looked like everyone was either absent or distracted, so he headed down the corridor to Narcissa's office. Knowing he was a guilty cheating bastard didn't stop him thinking about wrapping his coordinator's legs around his hips for the next hour. Guilt, he would deal with later. Like everything else.

He gave her door two brisk raps. Her answer was equally brisk. "Yes. Enter."

The door swung open, and for the second time that day, his heart nearly stopped beating forever.

There stood Lucius Malfoy, inches away from Narcissa who leaned against her desk. The look on the blonde wizard's face said Harry'd interrupted something rather tense. But her face… Her face when she looked at him was pure terror. He thought perhaps he'd seen it before – that expression. But Voldemort had been involved.

"Mr. Potter," she said. Her voice was steady and crisp.

Harry had to find his. "Mrs. Malfoy." His eyes flicked to her husband. Lucius stared, but without the vitriol Harry expected. Instead, the man's expression read surprise and perhaps…resignation. "Mr. Malfoy."

"Mr. Potter." Had Lucius' speech always been so cracked and hesitant? Harry remembered it being smooth and poisonous…until Azkaban. Now, he sounded much like he had then: broken. "You look well."

_Did Lucius Malfoy just compliment me?_ Harry glanced at Narcissa. She was staring out her window. "Thank you…sir." That word tasted like too much salt. "You do, as well." And that much _was_ true. If nothing else, Lucius had restored his former carriage. He was tall and well-built, hair glossy again and cut to the shoulder, sharply dressed and possessing a new cane with the head of what appeared to be…a dragon.

Bile rose in Harry's throat. He was suddenly very aware that he was a rather thin awkward boy of nearly eighteen compared to this man who stood stately and proud despite his current status as a recently pardoned Death Eater. _Pardoned because of me. _He couldn't help imagining for a moment if he'd let Lucius Malfoy be imprisoned…

His eyes drifted again to Narcissa. She was now looking at him expectantly. Harry fished in his back pocket. Produced the list he and Cho had filled. Lucky he'd held on to it. "We're done with the deliveries. I just wanted to let you know…before lunch. And…see if there were more."

She took the list. Her hand was shaking slightly, and her wedding ring flickered in the sunlight. "Thank you, Mr. Potter. I've nothing yet, but I'll let you know. Do enjoy your lunch."

He gave her a quick stiff bow. "Yes, ma'am. You, too."

"And Mr. Potter?" At the door, he turned to her. "If you would please let the others know I shall be…indisposed for the rest of the day. I would appreciate it."

Did his lip curl? He hoped not. His throat was too tight, so he nodded.

He managed to not slam the door to his room. Pressed against it. Heaving. _Why am I angry? I've no right to be. _He paced. Threw his oxford onto his bed and rubbed his bare arms. _He's her bloody fucking husband. She told me that. Lucius Fucking Malfoy. _ He leaned on his desk, aware that he was practically quaking.

_I should have let them put him away. I shouldn't have spoken for them… _He squeezed his eyes closed. Another one of those vexing hidden truths was pushing to the surface and curling into a sprout. _I did it for her, though. _He sat on the bed, dropped his head into his hands. _I bloody did it for her._

Ginny's letter caught his eye. He slid it from the bedside table. Read it for the fourth time.

_Dear Harry,_

_I miss you. I know the last months have been hard on you. Hard on all of us. I know that maybe I didn't always seem all there for you. And I'm sorry. Because you were certainly there for me. I know you're away now because you're trying to find some peace, like I am. And I hope it's working for you. I'm feeling better myself. Starting to see each new day as just that – a new day and not another day without Fred. Mum's starting to laugh again. And cook, if you're interested. And Ron's taken the broom out. George mostly stays away, but we are giving him time. Hermione and I have gotten very close. I suppose that's best since she'll most likely be my sister soon. Anyway, I imagine you're very busy. I love you and hope to see you soon. Write me, okay?_

_Always,_

_Ginny_

The letter crumpled in his fingers. _Always._ He chuckled ruefully. _Bloody always._

He went to his desk. Took up the quill. Wrote to his girlfriend. It was strange to feel like a user and feel used at the same time. He wondered as he penned words of love to Ginny if Narcissa was feeling the same things right now. If she was smiling at her husband and feeding him placations. If she would kiss him today. If she would…

He signed his letter '_Yours – Harry_.' _Always_ felt like a great damned lie. Then he threw himself headlong into work for the rest of the day. He didn't want to be anywhere near the 'indisposed' Narcissa and her husband. He felt a strange urge to punish her; could confess it was unfair and undeserved, but couldn't control it. She'd hardly known her husband was coming. Surely she would have told him had she expected her bloody husband.

She'd looked so frightened in her office… Yes, she would have told him.

It was far past supper when Harry returned to his quarters. The elves had been almost suspicious of his presence in laundry all evening, but they hadn't questioned his desire to work. In the empty lift, he leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment. He wondered if Lucius Malfoy would stay the night. Would he take Harry's place in Narcissa's bed?

It didn't seem right.

Whether Lucius Malfoy stayed or not, Harry knew he would not be seeing Narcissa this night. It wasn't the first time, no. But the thought of her husband's hands on her body practically made Harry seethe.

He slipped into his room and shed his clothes, tossed them about carelessly and showered. He toweled himself off and found a clean pair of briefs in his chest. Thus prepared for bed, he grabbed _The Metamorphosis _from his desk. He hadn't had as much time for reading since he'd taken his demanding lover.

But he wouldn't think about her tonight. _In fact, best to start practicing not thinking about her. Make it easier to leave behind – easier to walk away when the time comes._

He'd just cracked open Kafka when the knock sounded at his door – very light. He could have missed it were his room not so quiet. His brow creased. Probably Cho checking on him since he didn't see anyone today. Hopefully not Rachel…

He stood concealed behind the door when he opened it, prepared to tell his well-wisher he was off to bed. But platitudes died in his throat when he saw her face. "Uh…"

Her eyes were wide and wet. She was tense as if ready to bolt. "Am I interrupting anything?"

"No!" He gathered himself. "I just wasn't…"

"May I come in?" She whispered.

He held open the door and she slipped past him. Her spicy scent now filled his room, and it occurred to him this was only the second time she'd been here. "I didn't expect to see you."

Narcissa touched his desk absently. He watched her take in his messy space. "Would you rather I left?"

"Of course not." He gestured to the chair with one hand and his bed with the other. "Please have a seat."

She sat on the bed, giving him a slow once-over. "You were going to sleep."

"Read, actually. But I'd rather see you." Something lingered between them – invisible, but powerful. Harry stood half-naked and awkward, watching her finger his bland duvet. "Are you alright?"

"Yes." She tried a reassuring smile. Failed. Looked down again. "I had no idea he was coming today. I wanted you to know –"

"I guessed that." What did she want? He let the silence carry.

"Harry…" A deep breath. "I'll be going home soon. In a week or so."

His heart lunged. "Because he wants you to."

Her eyes plead for understanding. "He's trying very hard. He needs me. As does my son. My place is there, Harry. I've avoided it long enough." She reached for him, stroked his forearm. It was all she could reach. "I think we've both avoided it long enough."

Harry turned away. "For someone who makes me call her Mrs. Malfoy unless we're shagging, you know me pretty well."

He reached again into his chest for a shirt, wanting to conceal himself from her eyes. The sound of parchment ruffling made him turn. "Give me that!" He crawled onto the bed, plucked Ginny's letter from her fingers.

"She writes you every day," Narcissa murmured. "I know that much." She stood, walked toward the door. "So does Lucius. I'm sorry, Harry." Her hand was turning the nob.

"What did you come here for?" He asked. "Just wanted to deliver the news in person? Remind me of my underwhelming sense of duty? Of yours? Or was there more? Were you going to tell me you'd had fun, at least? That you'd miss me? Miss my co –"

"Yes, I wanted to tell you in person!" She snapped, whirled to regard him with a flush and shaking hands. "Because you're my lover and I owe you that! But it seems I underestimated your ability to converse like an adult at the moment."

He leapt to his feet, awareness of his state of dress dissipating in his anger. "Converse! You come in here after a day with your husband to tell me you're leaving in a week? How d'you think I feel?"

"You're angry."

"You're damned right! And jealous and ridiculous! Over you!" He took a breath. "And you feel nothing, I suppose. Stuck to your guns, of course. No feelings, right. 'No more than this,' isn't that what you said _whilst_ we fucked?" Mocking her felt good. Her crumbling face felt good. The tears streaming down her cheeks felt good.

Her hand crossing his face on a resounding smack did _not_ feel good.

"Fuck you, Harry." She hissed. "You think I've been immune? Why do you think I made all those rules? I had to protect myself from falling in love with a boy my son's age! And now that boy presumes to tell me my feelings? _You_ are the one who doesn't know _me_, Harry. And that surprises the hell out of me."

"Why?" He asked, rubbing his cheek. "Why should it surprise you? You never let me in."

She sagged against his wall, covered her face with her hands. Harry watched her shoulders shake and felt the lump in his own throat heat and threaten to melt. She finally looked back to him with a face wearing naked emotion. "Oh, Harry. Yes, I did."

"Bloody hell." He reached for her and she let him pull her to his chest, wrap his arms tight round her. She sobbed against his chest and he felt tears and mucus and her teeth as she cried with the abandon he'd only seen previously in sex. "I'm so sorry," he whispered in her temple. "I'm so fucking sorry."

"I tried not to!" She wept. "I tried so hard, but…" Her fingers clutched at him. "Harry, what am I to do?"

He pushed her away to look at her, tilted her face up to his and kissed her. She tasted of tears and regret and sorrow and guilt. He imagined she tasted the same on his lips. "I love you," he murmured against her mouth. "I fucking love you so much!"

"Shhh!" She stopped his mouth with another kiss. "Don't. Don't say it. I can't…" She bit back a fresh wave of tears. Stroked his chest. "Can I stay here tonight?"

"Here?" In _his_ bed?

"Please." She bit her lips. "I'd like to make love to you tonight, Harry. As many nights as I can before –"

It was his turn to hush her with his mouth. He undressed her slowly, peppering the process with more gentle, lingering kisses. Her hat tumbled to the floor and Harry removed the pins from her hair, curling his fingers in the length of it.

On the bed, she peeled his briefs from him while he turned down the duvet. They crawled underneath the blankets, smiling at secrecy. The smallness of his bed forced them closer than ever, and they smiled at that, too.

They were in no hurry. Harry took his time worshiping her breasts and body. She seemed to be memorizing the angles of his back. He tented the duvet over them while his mouth worked her, and she was quieter this time. Sighs and mewls, whimpers of pleasure. Her usual storm of poorly muted lusty babble was absent from this encounter.

This encounter saw magic unfold between them.

When Harry finally slid inside her, watched her close her eyes and focus on the feeling, he felt at home. As if every other place he'd been before was only temporary, this witch seemed the end of a journey. And this ending heard him crying into her neck.

He didn't let her go and she didn't make him. They lay spent and sticky against one another with two inches on either side. Harry kneaded her back and she sighed. "You'll stay tonight?"

She nodded. "Tonight. Yes."

"I'm off tomorrow. We can have a lie in."

"Mm-hm."

He kissed her crown. "You wouldn't leave him, would you?"

At that, she pushed up on his chest to meet his eyes. She looked very tired, and older than he'd ever seen her look. "Harry…I can't."

"I know. But I had to ask."

"I have a duty to him. I'm his wife. We have a child together. I made him a promise that I've already broken."

He swallowed. "Does he ever make you happy?"

"It's been a long time." She frowned. "But maybe now… I hope things can be different. He wants to try."

Harry stroked her eyes and the lashes fluttered closed. "He damn well better."

"Harry…" She kissed his fingers.

"I'll always be there, you know. If you ever need me. Or just…want me."

Hope brightened her eyes and a tiny smile broke free. "Always?"

He pulled her to him. "Bloody always." And the word should have felt like a lie, but it didn't.

**AN: **One more chapter to go. As 'always,' thank you, intoxicatedminds for the diligent Britpick. I've had a great many earnest requests for a happy ending. I ask every reader to keep in mind - happy endings come in many sometimes surprising guises. Thanks to you all for favoriting, following and especially reviewing.


	6. Weekenders

The Volunteer

Chapter Six: Weekenders

Grimmauld Place was indeed a grim, old place. Harry found his oddness there in his solitude. He sometimes leaned in doorframes watching Kreacher dust the same lamp for an hour straight. He wandered the halls every morning with his breakfast, restless and useless. And lonely.

His friends visited him. Ron, Hermione and Ginny. And Cho came sometimes, or Padma or Parvati. Once they _all_ had dinner together, reminiscing on old times that weren't so old. They talked about Hogwarts, mostly. When Cho or one of the twins brought up the hospital, Harry promptly steered them away from the topic. It wasn't right to discuss those old times, it seemed.

The amputation was still fresh and itchy. The absence too keen and emasculating. He still woke in the night thinking he smelled her spicy smell, thinking he'd felt her shift beside him… When it happened, he made himself a cuppa and moved to the drawing room. He slept on the chaise lounge sometimes. His bed felt too big.

And some days, it was hopeless. He recalled (at the oddest times) the feel of her fingers in his hair, her teeth scraping his jaw, her hot, hungry cunt eating his cock and the way her whole body had felt like a starving beast.

He supposed in retrospect that they'd both been starving. But they'd fed each other's hunger too well and now he craved her daily. He wondered if she craved the same. If she stared out her window when he stared out his window. If she ever punched her pillow to punish stupid tears.

He wondered if she made love to her husband the way he made love to Ginny. Staring at the headboard in the dimness and listening for her whimpers to subside, he was painfully aware of the pressure in his grip and the suction in his lips. Ginny was sensitive, and probably not ready for this step despite her being the one who'd insisted upon taking it.

They lay in his bed and Harry wished she would leave. He remembered the way Narcissa had so callously kicked him from her bed once, and he understood. He wished he could do the same to Ginny, then felt guilt like a dead weight.

From sadness, to bliss, to guilt and in guilt he lingered. In fact, the feeling had come to be a companion of sorts. He wondered what he would do without it.

Ginny rarely stayed, thank the gods. But when she did she fussed over him like a too mothering mother hen. Harry resisted the urge to push her hands away or throw his dinner plate to the floor. She noticed one evening and perched on the edge of his bed. "Harry. If I'm a bother, I'll go home."

"No, Gin. Stay."

"You just seem so lonely." She stroked his bare hip. "I feel helpless."

And the thought of not having her there was as tragic as the thought of having her there forever, so he apologized and took her hand. "I'm sorry I'm so moody lately."

She shook her head and kissed him. "You know. I took a lot of time to deal with my grief. And you seemed to avoid yours. Perhaps it's catching up?"

He bit his lip. "Perhaps."

She stood. He watched the outline of her body silver in the moonlit room. "Still. I'm going to go home for a while." Her eyes glistened. "When you're ready, you'll owl me?"

He shook his head, galvanized by curiosity. "Ginny, you don't have to go. Really."

She dressed briskly, not bothering to tuck her shirt. She shoved her bra carelessly into the back pocket of her jeans. "Just owl me, Harry. It's hard for me to feel like you're not here when you're laying on top of me." Then she was gone and he heard his front door slam and a pop of apparation.

He swung his legs over the edge of his bed and cradled his head in his hands.

Exactly six months after he'd begun his affair with Narcissa and approximately three months after it ended, he received an owl. He was in the kitchen when it tapped on his window; a regal, grey eagle owl with a somewhat apathetic glare. Harry took the missive from its leg and it flapped purposefully onto the sink's edge. It obviously awaited a reply. "Well, then." Harry smirked at it, reached to give it a scratch and was nipped at for his troubles. "Sorry!"

He was breaking the seal on the parchment without having glimpsed it, suspecting a letter from Padma or Parvati on their trip to India. So when the spicy scent wafted into his face, he froze momentarily, just breathing it in. His fingers shook as he unrolled the scroll.

_Dear Harry,_

_You owe me nothing in this world, and very possibly hate me now. I daresay I hope this is not the case, but understand if it is. Baring my soul has never been a simple task for me, so please give me a moment of patience. Know that whatever you feel and have felt, I am as weak and wanting for you as I ever was. I have missed you. I miss you. That being said, I presume mightily to tell you I am in Diagon Alley presently, staying for a weekend shopping excursion. I am quite alone, and would love to see you. If this is not possible for you, or if you simply desire to never hear from me again, please send a reply with Agrippina to the Court of Three Witches Hotel. Otherwise, tell the owl to return home, and come to room 1012._

_Yours,_

_Narcissa_

He crumpled the letter, but didn't release it. '_Presume,' indeed. _"Agrippina?" The owl ruffled its feathers. "Go home."

He felt remarkably under-dressed in the Court of Three Witches lobby. Everything there was made of gold, marble or velvet. But it was bustling with wealthy wizards and witches who barely spared him a glance. In the plush walnut lift, an uniformed elf addressed him. "What floor, sir?"

"Ten." His voice quivered a bit. The elf merely nodded and the lift was on its way. The gilt gates opened and Harry stepped onto thick carpet with a pentacle motif. The surrounding walls were rounded, and as there were very few rooms, he found 1012 quickly.

In the empty corridor, he fingered his hair, aware it was probably skewed as ever. He checked his breath. It still smelled of tea. _Should have brushed._ He imagined her. Tried to imagine her the way she would be now – not the witch he'd known at St. Mungo's. Heart racing, he knocked.

No amount of imagining could have prepared him for her face when she opened the door; soft eyes alight and wet, bowed lips spreading into a true smile, cheeks pink without makeup. "Harry." She said so little and so much. "Here. In."

"Thanks," he mumbled. The room was what he expected: luxe and posh. A fire crackled in an ornate fireplace, shining red hues on the satiny golden bedclothes. But for the impressiveness of the surroundings, all he could see was her.

Her hair hung loose and well past her shoulders. She was in stockinged feet and a burgundy knee length skirt. An ivory silk blouse was untucked and partially unbuttoned on her shapely frame. "You look really lovely," he whispered.

"Thank you." She nodded awkwardly and wrung her hands. She was at least six feet away. "You need a coat. It's November, Harry!"

He shrugged. "I was in a hurry."

Harry's mouth was dry. His fingers itched to touch her. But uncertainty lingered between them like the elephant in the room. "I'm glad you came," she said softly.

He put his itching fingers into his pockets, shrugged. "Did you really think I wouldn't?"

She bit her lips. "I hoped. But… I know that we parted on less than perfect terms."

"You left without saying a damn word to me, you mean."

"I told you good-bye the night before!" She defended hotly, walking toward him.

"When I was falling asleep on your tits?"

"What was bloody new?"

"That's hardly a proper good-bye." She was so close now he looked down at her eyes. "I woke in the morning in your bed and everything that was you was gone."

She touched his face and he felt the tears surge. "Oh, Harry. I'm so sorry." Her own tears shivered in the corners of her blue eyes. "I couldn't."

Finally, desperately, his hands left his pockets and cupped her jaw, tilted her head back. "I know, but…" He studied her lips and she whimpered. "It was hard just the same."

"I was a coward." She rubbed her cheek against his palms, yearning for his touch. "Can you forgive me?"

"Why did you ask me here?"

She kissed his fingers. "Because I miss you. And I'm weak and foolish and I want you, Harry." This last bet came out on a breath and she bit the heel of his hand.

Harry hissed. "Gonna kick me out of bed?"

Uncertainty bleeding into need, she pressed against him. "I have all weekend."

He kissed her, groaning, rubbing all the parts of her he'd missed so strongly. She slid fingers over his stubbled jaw and into his hair. Her mouth opened and her tongue met his and withdrew teasingly – the kiss he preferred, the one she'd taught him.

Their breaths came hot on their faces. Narcissa shoved his opened oxford off his shoulders and grabbed the hem of his tee. They separated so she could remove it, then Harry kissed the top of her head while she re-familiarized herself with the planes of his chest and belly, occasionally nipping him. He reached around her to finish freeing her from her shirt. "I've missed you, too," he admitted. "Horribly."

His fingers fussed at the clasp of her bustier and she stopped touching him long enough to remove it. His hands settled on her breasts and they nearly tripped backing onto the bed's raised platform. By the time they hit the duvet, their lips were swollen and their bodies naked.

"Gods, you feel so good!" Narcissa gasped against his ear. And there was time later for catching up, for slowing down and enjoying each other to the fullest. But for now, she was wet and he needed to fuck her. So he wasted no time thrusting inside her as if it was her punishment and she took it as if she understood.

"You missed this," he growled.

"Yes!" Her cries were loud and abandoned here, the built-in silencing charms giving them allowances they'd never had before.

"I did, too." He hiked her knee over his shoulder and thrust harder. "And I still fucking love you!"

"Harry, please!" She turned her face away from his, wanted to avoid this confrontation – particularly at this moment.

"You can't make me stop." He thrust faster. She bit into his forearm. "And you can't deny what your body's telling me right now."

Her teeth broke skin and she roared into his blood as she came, clinching fingers in his hair. Harry's fingers wrenched her head toward him and he kissed her bloody mouth, shoving his own groans of pleasure down her throat – as if making her eat his lust could prove his feelings.

When he finally let her pull away for breath, there was sweat, blood and saliva bonding them. She seemed to notice the taste of iron for the first time and touched her stained mouth. "Oh, Harry! I'm so sorry!" Her leg slid down his back and she pulled the injured arm back to her lips. She kissed the wound. Harry's head dropped into the crook of her neck. "Let me get my wand. I'll heal it."

"Leave it." Harry murmured. Emotion caught up with him and the tears he'd held at bay slipped his guard. He wrapped his arms tight around her and held on.

"Shhhh." Narcissa stroked his sticky back. "Don't. Don't do this." More kisses peppered his head. "I'm sorry…"

"I don't want you to be bloody sorry!" He pushed away from her and sat up, the room's chill raising gooseflesh across his shoulders. "I want you to be happy." He sniffed and felt foolish.

Her breasts and belly pressed into his back. "I'm happy right now," she whispered. "Can't we have a little time to be happy again?"

"And then what? Back to our respective miseries?" He stood and made for the loo. She followed, wrapping a soft throw around her form.

"Are you truly miserable?" She leaned in the lavatory door.

Harry braced his arm against the ornately tiled wall over the toilet. "Yes," he answered. He had no qualms about pissing in front of his woman, and was strangely gratified when she looked away. He drew a bath for them when it was her turn to relieve herself.

In the hot water's amniotic embrace, she spoke softly. "It's my fault you're miserable. I did this to you."

"I kissed you first. If I recall correctly. I attacked you in the linen closet."

"But I didn't say no. And I should have." She examined his bitten arm again. "You turn me into something…feral. Not myself."

"Gods forbid you should lose control for five minutes."

"Don't be mean, Harry." She looked up from beneath his chin, but he closed his eyes, not ready to see sincerity in her blue depths. "I know you want to punish me. For leaving you. For not contacting you sooner. For not leaving my husband. For a multitude of things I may never understand." She stroked his jaw. There were a few days' worth of beard growth. "But this is the best I can do. And I struggle, too. Do you think it's been easy for me?"

He swallowed and listened to her, finally looking at her.

"I've a husband who's fallen apart and needs mending. A son who…is like a living shadow. A house nearly in ruins and finances so skewed and squandered by Death Eaters that I have no idea how I will ever sort them. And then there's bloody you…" She sighed. "Always in the back of my mind or pushing to the surface at the most inconvenient times. I wasn't lying when I said I miss you, you know."

"I know." He squeezed her. "I'm sorry." And he was sorry, but it merely tempered the resentment. "Why not leave it? Even if not for me, why not leave him? Let him deal with it?"

"I would be leaving my son, too, Harry. And I can't do that. Draco needs me – maybe not to mother him, but to show him we can still be strong. He needs to see we can come back from this and that he can help. The whole damned mess will be all his someday, anyway."

The bigger question loomed. Harry couldn't avoid it and decided not to try. "Do you love him at all?"

She was quiet for a moment. "Harry…for fuck's sake…Yes! Alright? I care for my husband. Is it a great passionate romance? No, and perhaps it never was. And perhaps he's been incredibly stupid and made furiously bad decisions, but he is still my husband and has been ever faithful to me which is more than I can say for myself!"

"I didn't mean to upset you." Harry rubbed her tense arms and kissed her temple. "I just want to know you're cared for. That you aren't…mistreated."

"No. Lucius has never mistreated me. Or his son. Not directly, anyway." She conceded.

"Does he…make love to you?"

"Harry!" She turned in his arms, sloshing water from the bath. "Why in Merlin's name would you ask that? Especially when we're together?"

"Because it eats me alive!" He told her his honest truth, as usual. "I can't bear the thought of him touching you!"

Narcissa wiped a drop of water from his glasses with her thumb. "He's my husband."

Harry's lip curled. He had his answer. "And what am I?"

"You told me you wanted to be lovers, once. And I took you at your word."

"So I'm still your lover? Just when it's convenient for you?"

She stood, her expression clearly reading she needn't subject herself to his ranting. "I haven't left my house in nearly six months, Harry. Because it's taken that long to get the men in my life self-sufficient again." She wrapped a plush towel around her nakedness. "You hadn't anyone who needed your nurturing, so I imagine these last months have been long and for that I apologize. But…"

She gave up. Sat on the closed toilet and put her head in her hands. Harry recognized the position as one he found himself in often enough. Finally, she found her words. "Harry. You and I are very rare people. We are strong when others need us. And sometimes, we need our strength to ourselves. We have to…regenerate. I think we happened to find each other during that regeneration. I think we strengthened each other, but I also think we took from each other."

Harry leaned over the edge of the bath, watching her pick at her fingernails. "What did you take from me?" She looked up, perhaps surprised he was truly listening, and he shrugged at her gamely. "Aside from the obvious, I mean."

"I took your affection," she answered. "Your innocence. Your passion. Your gentleness." Her eyes misted. "Your love."

"And you regret that."

"Yes. Very much."

"Why?"

"Because I didn't offer mine in return. I tried so hard not to…"

He stood, gestured for a towel and she gave him one. "I took from you, too, you know."

"Did you?" The look in her wide eyes was hopeful.

He walked to her, towel low on his hips and she kissed his stomach, followed the trail there down his abdomen. "I took your desire. Your experience. Your desperation." He pulled her up by her elbows and wrapped her in his embrace. He took a chance, an irrational gamble. "And I think I took your love, too. No matter how hard you tried to keep it."

She was kissing his neck and collar, tiptoes stretching against the cool, moist floor. "Let's go to bed," she murmured.

Bastioned amid sheets and thick duvet, they made love the way they had during their last days together at St. Mungo's, quietly and intensely. They exhausted each other, comfortable in the knowledge they would wake together in this haven.

Afterward, Harry stroked designs on her arms and shoulders while she lay against his chest. "Do you expect you'll be able to get out a bit more now?"

"Mm-hm." She kissed a pectoral. "I do."

"So we could meet once in a while?"

"I would like that." Her fingers spidered down his belly. "I can't always guarantee a weekend, but…"

"So long as I don't wait six months, I'll settle for a day now and then." He couldn't have her forever, no. But he could have her occasionally. And that _might _suffice.

"Will it be safe for me to owl you?"

Harry nodded. He knew she spoke of Ginny – of the possibility of his having his own relationship. "It's just me for now." Unlike himself, Narcissa didn't ask questions. If there was ever another witch in his life, he doubted this one would want to know about it. "Your owl is awfully radgey."

She pinched his thigh and he yelped. "Agrippina is a fine creature! She's just old and…neurotic. Like me."

"She bites."

Narcissa chuckled, ducked beneath the duvet. "Also like me…"

Harry shivered and bucked beneath her ministrations. Sleep was slow in coming for both of them, and they slept until past noon. When Harry finally opened his eyes, he saw her already staring back at him. He swept her bangs aside. "Hello."

"Hello," she whispered back.

"You've been thinking." He was hesitant, nervous about what made her face so serious. Last time he'd seen her this way, she'd told him they were through.

"I have been."

"What about?"

"You."

He swallowed. "What about me?"

She blinked, again rubbed his bearded face. "How you were right."

"Right about what?"

Her teeth took hold of her bottom lip. "You did take my love, Harry. And reminded me I have more left to give. I thank you for that."

His smile was genuine and free. He collected her to him like a precious thing. "I think we've both a good deal left to give, Narcissa."

He refused to believe it was simply lust that drove them together. There was love there – odd in its timing but as blatant as the sun. And it was love that drove them apart. And love would bring them together again. Harry thought of the love Narcissa had for her family, of the love Ginny had for himself. Selfless love. Unconditional love.

He tumbled the witch in his arms, listened to her squeal. This love had conditions. It had terms and limits and boundaries. But if it could keep them both going through the lean times on either side, it was worth every negotiation. And if it required a little extra work – a little more detailing, he would be the first to volunteer.

**AN: **Thanks to my lovely Britpicker always – Insights. And to all of you who have followed, favorited, read and especially reviewed. This fic has been a very different experience for me, and was influenced by several sources. Two films you should note include _The Graduate_ starring Dustin Hoffman and the indomitable Anne Bancroft and Tony Marchant's recent _Leaving _starring the indomitable Helen McCrory. Also a rare but pristine French novella simply titled _La Mer_. I don't know if it's translated. And (of course) _Madame Bovary_. The new Lydia Davis translation is…impeccable. I hope you all enjoyed.


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